#that's their thing! it's practically their love language!

[amoressb]

───── TWO IDIOTS IN LOVE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ just two best friends being oblivious to their love for each other ｡｡ bestfriend!riki x reader . fluff & wc. 1.0k ; kissing, skinship ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

riki and you had been best friends since middle school. the type of best friends who communicated through facial expressions alone, who texted each other memes at three in the morning, and who had an entire language of inside jokes no one else could understand. you two bickered like an old married couple, stole food off each other’s plates without permission, and shared your wildest dreams without hesitation.

too bad you two were completely oblivious to the fact that you were in love with each other. so when riki surprised you with tickets to universal studios, you had tackled him in a hug, nearly knocking him over.

“you are officially my favorite person ever,” you declared, eyes sparkling. “i better be, these tickets were not cheap,” riki joked, though he looked pretty pleased with himself.

the moment you two stepped into the park, the chaos began. both running from ride to ride like little kids, shoving each other playfully as you two argued over what to do next. you screamed the loudest on roller coasters (riki swore you shattered his eardrum on jurassic world), while riki attempted to set a new personal record for how many butterbeer flavored treats a person could consume in one day.

“are you sure you should be eating another one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as riki took a huge bite of a butterbeer flavored churro.

riki waved you off, “please, my stomach is built for this.”

not even an hour later, he was groaning on a bench, his head in your lap as you laughed mercilessly at his misery.

“laugh it up,” he grumbled. “oh, i will,” you teased, poking his cheek. “this is what you get for underestimating butterbeer.”

by nightfall, you two finally made your way to super nintendo world. the moment you stepped in, both of you were hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. the neon lit mushroom kingdom surrounded you and riki, the familiar game music playing softly in the background.

“riki.” you grabbed his arm, shaking him with excitement. “we’re in mario land!”

“i know,” riki grinned. “this is literally my childhood dream come true!”

“okay, we have to go on mario kart : bowsers challenge,” you said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“oh, absolutely,” riki agreed. “and i’m so ready to destroy you.”

“in your dreams, loser.”

as soon as you got into your karts, the competition began. you threw yourselves into the ride, dodging banana peels, throwing shells, and laughing way too hard when one of you got hit. by the time you two stumbled off, breathless and giddy, you and him were still arguing about who had won.

“i definitely won,” you declared.

“you literally lost at the finish line,” riki shot back. “just accept that i’m superior.”

“please yeah right—” you groaned and shoved his shoulder.

it was supposed to be playful, but riki, being the clumsy guy that he was, lost his balance. instinctively, he grabbed onto your wrist, but that just made you stumble too and suddenly—you two crashed into each other.

your faces were way too close.

neither of you moved. you could feel rikis breath against your lips and you were very aware of the fact that your hands were gripping his hoodie while his fingers were curled around your wrist.

everything around you—the neon lights, the distant game music, the sound of other people laughing—blurred into the background. the only thing that existed in that moment was him.

and then riki, looking dazed and definitely not thinking straight, mumbled, “if i kissed you right now, would that be really stupid or only kind of stupid?”

your brain short circuited. “wh—” you opened your mouth, but no words came out. “did you just—”

riki blinked, his own words catching up to him. his face immediately turned bright red. “i—i didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he stammered.

you stared at him, your heart pounding. the worst part? you didn’t hate the idea. in fact, it was like something clicked in your brain—all the teasing, all the lingering touches, all the everything suddenly made sense.

“oh my gosh,” you whispered. “what?” riki asked nervously.

“i’m in love with you.” the words slipped out before you could stop them and as soon as you said them, your eyes went wide. “oh no.”

“oh no?” riki repeated, staring at you. “why oh no?”

“because..” you groaned, covering your face. “because now i can’t pretend i don’t have feelings for you and now our friendship is going to be so weird, and i—”

“y/n.”

you peeked through your fingers. riki was staring at you, wide eyed, looking like you had just revealed the greatest secret in the universe and then…he grinned.

“you love me,” he repeated, and he sounded way too smug about it. you scowled, “shut up.”

“no, this is amazing,” riki said, his grin widening. “because guess what?”

“what.”

“i’m also in love with you.”

you blinked. “wait…what?”

“you heard me,” riki said, rocking back on his heels. “i love you. i have probably always loved you and if we weren’t in the middle of mario land, i would definitely be kissing you right now.” you gaped at him, “we’re in mario land, riki.”

“i know,” he smirked. “which is why i’m gonna kiss you right here and make it the most iconic confession in history.”

you barely had time to react before riki leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you—warm, soft, and so so long overdue. eventually you melted into him, your hands fisting his hoodie.

when you pulled apart, your face was on fire. “that was—”

“amazing?” riki grinned. “i was gonna say stupid, but sure.” riki laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “you totally lost mario kart, by the way.” you groaned, “you’re lucky i love you.”

“yeah you do” he smiled. you rolled your eyes playfully with a smile as you lean into his arms, head sort of resting on his shoulder/chest, his hand that was around your shoulder intertwined with your right hand.

and just like that, two oblivious idiots in love finally got their happy ending…at mario land, of all places.

⋆｡°✩ @miukidoll @liwinly @sugarikiz

[juniperskye]

You’re…intimidating.

Based on the following ask: For Hotch x reader, could I please request charming witty reader who Hotch has an obvioussss crush on and he's trying to flirt but he's out of practice and she's pretty extroverted, confident so she just doesn't register he's interested and he's getting grief from the team for being all puppy dog eyes at her? Pref non-BAU reader but maybe she works in a different FBI dept or she's a lawyer/consultant they work with often and Hotch is always the first to suggest working with her so he's not being subtle in wanting to spend time with her lol. Feel free to adapt!! Thanks!! ❤️Okay pookie!!! I’ve been thinking about this one and it might end up pretty self-indulgent and for that I am sorry – girlie works for cybercrimes (but transfers to the BAU – sorry it felt right) and she’s the best of the best like Penelope worships her…she’s a little alternative so Hotch admires her from afar because she’s not his usual type just PURE FLUFF

Aaron Hotchner x FBI! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2674

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Aaron is 45), some explicit language, not an OC but reader is described to have some tattoos and piercings (nothing specific though), reader works for cybercrimes and is SUPER tech savvy, idiots in love, Hotch pining hard, tooth rotting fluff, canon typical violence, mentions of hacking and breaking laws, reader is an extroverted introvert, Reader is called “Agent Z” or “Z” because she is a gen z, let me know if I missed any

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hotchner, this is the third time this month you’ve requested her. I’m beginning to think we should be offering her a spot in the BAU.” Director Cruz teased.

“If she’d be willing, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Hotch shrugged.

“I’ll put in the consultation request and maybe I’ll bring up the idea of a transfer to her.”

Hotch stood and returned to the sixth floor, promptly running into Penelope, as she was making her way back to the Batcave.

“So, I heard I might be getting some assistance on our next case! You know if you keep inviting Agent Z to join us, I’m going to get used to having her around.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hotch asked.

“No, it definitely wouldn’t…unless she stops coming around.” Penelope retorted.

The look on Hotch’s face gave him away, there was a brief flash of disappointment at the suggestion of you not coming around anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought…which made him even more nervous than you did. Speaking of…

“Hey Hotch!” You called effectively startling him.

“Hello! I uh – I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Ah well, Cruz emailed the request over and I got the notification, so I figured there was no time to waste.” You shrugged.

“Well, we might as well debrief the team then.” Aaron offered, gesturing toward the conference room.

--

Here’s the deal, Aaron had feelings for you, you had captivated him the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday in July, the weather had been unforgiving…hot and humid, not ideal for the business attire of FBI agents.

As he made his way into the building, he’d taken note of how nearly everyone had their suit jackets or blazers slung over their arms, their sleeves rolled up as they hurried into the air-conditioned building.

But then there was you. You were wearing these chunky black loafers and black trousers, your top had been a simple black tank, it was hugging your skin in a way that made Aaron’s mouth go dry. You had a checkered cardigan tossed over your forearm that you had clearly removed. It allowed Aaron a view of the tattoos that adorned your arms.

He couldn’t explain the pull he felt…you had been so different from any woman he’d ever had any interest in before, but maybe that’s why things never worked out with them. Maybe the others were too stiff, too proper. Maybe he needed a little chaos in his life.

--

During the debriefing, Aaron had made sure you were sat next to him. He let Penelope present the case as usual and allowed time for theories. While Derek and Emily were talking back and forth about the possible age and gender of the unsub, Aaron’s eyes were trained on you. He could see your mind running a mile a minute.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, tapping your arm gently.

“Oh, no. I was just thinking. There’s something about the photo’s that were left at the crime scene…it feels familiar.” You shrugged.

“Have you seen another case like this?”

“I think so…” You pulled open your laptop and began searching through old case files and evidence you’d logged over the years. “Here! Hotch, look at this!”

Aaron leaned over, leaving hardly any space between the two of you. His gaze shifted from your profile to your computer screen, taking in the images before him. On your screen were photos that were nearly identical to those in the file the team had just reviewed.

It seemed as though this unsub took photos to document their work. Leaving some behind at the crime scenes, taunting law enforcement.

“We didn’t have very many leads back when this came across my desk, but I have new programs I can use to run these photos through now and with Penelope’s help, I think we could finally get this guy.” You explained.

“Alright, why don’t you travel with us so you can access the physicals of the photos.” Aaron suggested.

“Okay!”

“Alright then, wheels up in thirty.” Aaron commanded.

--

“Hey Agent Z! You joining us again?” Derek nudged you gently.

“Not this time, I was just asked to come and consult on a case.” You replied.

 “Oh, I see. Bossman calling in his favorite once again.”

“Stop! It’s not like that Derek.”

“Girl…you and I both know that it is.” Derek laughed and walked off.

You made your way to Aaron’s office, knocking on the door. When he calls out for you to enter, you go straight for the chair in front of his desk, plopping into it with a huff.

“You alright?” Aaron asks, concern lacing his tone. “We could do this later if you’re not up for it.”

“No! I’m happy to help! I’ve just got a decision to make, and I don’t know what to do.” You sighed. “Let’s talk about this case!”

Aaron and you went through the case that had been sent in from the NYPD. You were confused as to why he’d called you in to consult, the case had seemed pretty cut and dry…something Aaron would typically delegate to Derek or Dave. The tech aspect to this case was so minute, it was common sense…but you didn’t want to call him out on it.

--

“Thanks again for your help, hopefully the NYPD can close that case pretty quickly now.” Aaron walked you over toward the elevators.

“Any time. I like working with you and the BAU.” You smiled cheerfully.

“So um, what was that decision you have to make?” He inquired.

“Oh, uh…well, Cruz asked me if I wanted to transfer from Cybercrimes over to the BAU actually.”

“That’s great! I mean – I uh. Do you think you’ll do it?”

“I’m thinking about it for sure! It’s just, I’ve been with Cybercrimes for so long, I’d feel bad leaving them…ya know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You said your goodbyes and you headed back to your office on the eighth floor. Aaron stood there for a bit, looking after you as you made your exit. He stood there a beat longer before turning and heading back to his office. Only he didn’t get that far. Upon walking through the glass doors, he was met with the whole team standing there waiting for him.

“You’re down bad Hotch.” Emily said.

“Yeah, that was almost painful to watch.” JJ agreed.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Hotch shook his head and made his way back to his office.

--

Agreeing with the director to have you transferred was, quite possibly, the dumbest decision that Aaron could have ever made. He already struggled just being near you when you’d come and assist, but the thought of having you around all the time…what was he meant to do?

Subject: Agent Transfer – Effective immediately Good afternoon, This email is being sent to inform both the CCU and BAU of the immediate transfer of Agent Z. In discussing this transfer, she assured me that should the CCU need her assistance in a case, she’d happily help. She does, however, know that the agents on the team are more than capable of handling things. As for the BAU, given her expertise and background, she will travel with you as needed. I just want to remind you that Agent Z has a background in hacking, computer forensics, criminal justice, psychology, behavior analysis, amongst others. Utilize her skills – I believe she will make an incredible contribution to the BAU. Hotchner – her file was delivered to your office this morning. Also, she needs firearms training, please ensure she completes this before travelling with the team. Let me know if you have any questions. Mateo Cruz - Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit

Aaron read the email four times. You would be starting with the team today…he needs to get you scheduled for your firearms training and qualification exam. He figured he could do that while you get settled in the office adjacent to Penelope’s.

--

“Hey Hotch.” Your fingers rapped against the doorframe.

“Hi-Hello. Can I uh, show you to your office?” He asked.

“Penelope already beat you to it.” You teased. “But if you want to help me bring the last of my boxes down, that would be awesome.”

“Oh, I um-I…can-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You’re a busy man, and I can ask Spence or Derek!”

“No, I’d love to help.” Aaron recovered.

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron led the two of you over to the elevator, allowing you to enter first, then following suit and pressing the button for the eighth floor. It slowly lifted before signaling your arrival on the CCU floor.

You guided Aaron to your old office where the last two boxes remained. There was an IT guy loading your monitors onto a cart, getting ready to move them for you. You looked around at the now empty space…it felt empty now, like it no longer belonged to you, and you supposed it didn’t anymore. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness that took over your features.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just odd, having had this office for the last four years, and now it’s empty…it’s not mine anymore.” Your gaze shifted downward. “It feels like the end of a chapter. While the feeling isn’t bad, because I’m really excited to be joining the BAU, it just feels kind of sad.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that same way when I left the law firm I worked at.” Aaron looked over at you.

You met his gaze, and he offered a small smile. You returned it, feeling this sense of comfort. He’d always brought up that feeling in you though. It was like this glowing warmth that spread its way through your entire being…but that flame only burned in you when he was around.

--

“And hold it just like that, good!” Aaron praised.

You fired three consecutive shots at the target, forming a neat cluster in the outlines chest. Pride bloomed in Aaron’s chest, and you squealed with excitement, throwing your arms around him!

“Thank you so much for helping me! There was no way I was going to pass this exam without you!”

“I’m not sure how you’ve been with the bureau this long and not had to get your firearm qualification.” Aaron shook his head with a laugh.

“Hey! I have been confined to the eighth floor for the last five-ish years, I haven’t needed to carry one.”

Aaron took note of the freckles that dusted your nose, and the way the light reflected in your eyes. He thought for a moment about how close you were, and how easy it would be to just lean in the last few inches and capture your lips in a kiss. But he had to shake the thought away.

--

“I PASSED!” You shouted, running your way through the BAU bullpen.

“Good lord, what are you yelling about?” Dave asked, coming out of his office.

“I PASSED! I PASSED!” You waved your firearms certificate in the air, making your way over to Aaron’s office.

He exited his office to see what the commotion was all about, seeing you shaking your hand, waving a piece of paper around like a mad woman. He was mesmerized by you. You were 100% yourself and he admired you for it, you weren’t worried about how others perceived you. You only worried about your own opinion; you wanted to be the best version of yourself always.

“HOTCHHH, I PASSED!” You ran over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck.

Aaron held you tight, lifting you off the ground for just a moment before noticing the look on Dave’s face. He placed you down and quietly congratulated you. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at getting caught by Dave. He knew that he had done nothing wrong…but he also knew that Dave could read him better than anyone else.

--

“Okay, when are you going to ask that girl out?” Dave huffed, sitting in the chair across from Aaron.

“Dave.” Aaron scolded. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Aaron…you deserve it. Happiness I mean. So, are you going to let it pass you by or are you going to seize the moment?”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a case.” Penelope informed. “It’s a child abduction.”

“Let everyone know we’re leaving now – we will brief on the plane.” Aaron commanded.

“Is Z going with you?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Dave answered for Aaron.

--

Aaron always sat next to you on the plane. It had been purely accidental, you’d sat in his usual seat and though Aaron wouldn’t say anything, Spencer did. So, you moved over into the adjacent window seat and Aaron slid in next to you. Since then, you’d always sat there.

Like now for example, the BAU was headed home after a two-week long case. The unsub had been way too good at covering his tracks, he’d had the entire team stumped. Thankfully you’d found his slipup in a dark web chatroom. He’d posted video of him torturing his latest victim in a chatroom used by very sick people. It was flagged once you’d turned on notifications for keywords and certain video content. After receiving the notification, Penelope and you were able to track an IP address and narrow down the location.

It had been exhausting honestly, running around, back and forth, interviewing people, going through evidence, just going until you found this guy…and now that was finally catching up to you. Your head had been bobbing off to the side as you fought the throws of sleep. As you began dozing off once more, Aaron reached over and led your head to rest on his shoulder. You finally settled and snuggled a bit further into his side, and for once he leaned back and let himself rest on the flight home.

Emily pointed JJ and Derek’s attention over to the two of you and then giggled. Derek quickly snapped a picture and sent it in their group chat. Penelope was quick to reply with the happy tears emojis and saying “finally”.

--

Things had shifted slightly after that. And while the team still teased Aaron about his very obvious crush on you, he finally allowed himself to be more confident in his interactions with you. He realized that Dave was right…maybe he did deserve happiness.

He’d invited you to get lunch with him a few times during work and he’d brought you coffee. He thought he was making his affection for you more obvious…but you still didn’t budge. He was beginning to worry that you didn't feel the same.

But it all came to a head when he decided he needed to be direct. Not on his own…Emily and JJ had to confront him and then convince him that you did like him, you just didn’t think he liked you.

--

You walked into the elevator, just about to click the button to the sixth floor when an arm reached in to stop the door from closing.

“Oh! Good morning Hotch.” You greeted. “Sorry, if I had seen you coming I’d have held the door.”

“No worries.” He forgave. “Do you um – do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and watching an episode of The Great British Bake Off. What about you?”

You’re reply had been so innocent and sweet. Just a simple response to his question, not reading into what he was truly asking you.

“Sweetheart, though your plans sound wonderful…will you go to dinner with me tonight?” He asked.

Your jaw dropped, only for a moment as you worked to regain your composure. Had you really been that blind? The girls had told you time and time again that he was interested, and you’d brushed it off, not wanting to get your hopes up…but here he is now, asking you out.

“I would love to.” You smiled.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

  [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

warnings and triggers: extremely dark subject matter, graphic mentions of abuse. sexual trauma. hints that daryl might be autistic. name calling. no smut, but moments of fluff. slight alternate universe.

word count: 9.4k

you and daryl grew up in broken homes. bonded by the abuse you both suffered, you find comfort in each other. but as you grow up, you drift apart, although the connection between you two never fully goes away.

when you reconnect as adults, you both realize that the love between you two has always been more than just friendship - it was also survival during the rough times, and in each other you find healing. in daryl, you realize that home isn’t always four walls and a roof.

sometimes, it’s a man with rough hands and a kind soul, who’s always had your best interest at heart. who knows all your demons - and loves you anyway.

you grew up with daryl - but instead of riding bikes around the neighborhood and telling fairy tales like a normal kid, you trauma bond over stories about your abusive family situations and collect empty beer bottles littered around both of your childhood homes to throw baseballs at, looking for any form of entertainment to get through the day. you’re practically neighbors, and as you grow up you’re more like brother and sister than just friends. shared trauma will do that to anyone.

during the summer, you stay awake and out of your homes until it’s dark, looking for frogs and eating berries, finding loose change on the road and walking the mile to the little convenience store in town to buy and share a bag of chips. you stay out until merle comes looking for daryl, or your own brother calls out to you, yelling, “get your ass inside or i’m locking you out!”

daryl and you always exchange a look, one that’s founded in humor, a ‘look what i deal with everyday’ expression while you try to act strong - but you both know it’s a very thin thread that holds your emotions, your hope, together these days. the only thing that brings a little light into either of your worlds is the friendship you have with one another.

you don’t have to hide around daryl. both of you can be your broken selves, show your bruises around each other. it’s not even embarrassing to bring daryl into your home, because his home is just the same. dirty, loud, a place that has you constantly tense and ready to defend yourself.

daryl is like your shadow, and you’re his. wherever you go, he goes. wherever he goes, you go.

you’re so close - until you’re not.

────

as teenagers, you grow apart.

you get pretty - and a little slutty. you look for validation from the mean guys at school, offer yourself up to any man that reminds you of your father. your beauty is your currency, your weapon, but also your biggest curse. makes it so you don’t even want to be around your father when he’s drunk, or your brother or his friends for that matter.

you’re busy, flunking your classes and stealing fashion magazines from the same convenience store you used to go to with daryl as kids with pockets full of change. you spend your time in bedrooms, mostly yours, hanging up photos from those precious magazines on your wall to cover up the cigarette smoke stained wallpaper. but you also spend a lot of time in the bedrooms or truck beds of different men.

sometimes, you wonder about daryl - the boy with the haunted eyes that was your lifeline and such a big part of your childhood. he’s just as much of the voice in your head as your own is, and when you walk home alone, from school or the store or past his house without catching a glimpse of him, you think back to the memories you shared together. the games you played, when there was still a little bit of innocence in the both of you.

like pretending to be cops, with daryl being the good cop and you being the bad. hide and seek by the stream in the woods that destroyed both of your school shoes, and you only got one pair a year, in just one weekend. grabbing an old bowl from your house to collect grass and leaves and little rocks and mud, so you could play family and make dinner, pretending the random squirrels that ran past you both were your pets. it was an idealized version of a family from the television you watched - because neither one of you have any actual memories of your mothers cooking.

or your favorite game: royalty, when daryl made you both crowns out of old grass and twigs and bestowed upon you the most important title you’ve ever held: mud queen to his mud king. like you were married or something.

on especially rough days in your present, you swear you see the tiny, muddy footprints of you and daryl when you’re walking on a trail back to your house. when you’d both check to make sure your fathers were at the bar or out of the house so you could sit next to each other on either of your couches, and share a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread, watch cartoons on televisions with grainy screens and bad audio.

you still remember how daryl likes his peanut butter sandwiches. lots of spread, a little jelly, and if there was one available - a whole banana smashed up inside.

you wonder if he remembers anything about you. you wonder if he even thinks of you at all.

────

daryl’s not like the rest of the guys in town, and that’s good - because he was always worried he would be. used to look at merle and your brother in disgust and hatred whenever they were high or drunk or just being themselves. and you don’t know daryl anymore, not at all, but what you do know about him, hear about him - you can tell that he kept those promises to himself.

promises to you, when you’re feeling extra sorry for yourself.

you have a memory of him walking into your bedroom so you could show him a new coloring book you got. you were much too old to be so excited about a coloring book, but daryl was ranting about how much he hated his family, and you wanted to cheer him up.

you notice this in your life even though you’re almost all grown up. maybe coming from poverty, having nothing, being denied a real childhood - it keeps you young. interested in things that normal people your age would’ve outgrown already.

like now, with your bed full of stuffed animals you could’ve never afforded as a kid, but that you’re so excited you can give to yourself now. back then, it was that coloring book that your mom’s boyfriend of the month, when she finally remembered she had a daughter and came to visit, gave to you. it had unicorns on it and you also had a brand new pack of crayons.

but when you opened your drawer looking for it, excited to show daryl, there was just a bunch of broken crayons and ripped up pages. your eyes watered, and daryl stopped his story about his father putting out a cigarette on his hand to see what was wrong. his expression fell, seeing what was in the drawer, and he picked up whatever was left of the coloring pages. your brother walked by your bedroom at the same time, and he saw what was in daryl’s hand.

he shook his head, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. daryl stepped in front of you, and you don’t even think he realized he was doing it, but you remember that it was obvious that he was turning into a man. he was finally taller than you, and too strong now to climb up and into your favorite tree. your brother scoffed, like he was disgusted just by your presence.

you knew that feeling all too well.

“yer too old for a coloing book anyway. what you do to get that, huh? mom didn’t give me anything. she didn’t even say hi, but you - you whoring yourself out like her already?”

you saw daryl’s hand tense up. he grabbed onto the coloring book so hard it was damaging it more, but you didn’t say anything. just whispered, “let’s go for a walk,” as soft as you could until your brother walked away.

and on that walk, daryl grabbed at his hair and kicked empty cans in the road.

“god,” he groaned angrily, and you still remember that he was the only man or boy you’d ever been around who’s anger didn’t scare you. “i’ll never be like them. i swear it,” he ranted the entire walk. you stopped at the convenience store again.

the guy at the front hassled daryl about telling merle to pay up, and daryl hassled him back, which was unusual. you didn’t realize why he did that, until you both left.

on the way back home, daryl pressed a fresh pack of crayons into your hand. he had been distracting the guy at the counter so he could steal it. he shrugged. “can always just use regular paper,” he suggested, and you remember leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek.

nowadays, daryl sticks to himself, and eventually, drops out of high school. but you know he’s still in town because you see him sometimes when your brother drags you to the dixon place to pick up a bag of something to get him high. you never talk to daryl, but sometimes you see that he’s there, from his crossbow by the door or a banana on the kitchen counter - because merel wouldn’t eat that gay shit. or sometimes you hear him in his room, blasting music while merle bangs on his door and roars at him to “turn that shit down!”

you don’t know if he’s avoiding you or just avoiding the world. you wonder why you grew apart exactly. you have some theories, because there was never a falling out between you two. one day - you just stopped hanging out. you don’t even remember how it happened.

both of you just wanted to outgrow the shitty childhood you had, maybe hope for something better as you got older. did it happen? no. but the memories you have together are just reminders of the abuse you’ve seen the other handle. the dreams you bonded over, about escaping this town and your families - they never came true. looking at each other is just a reminder of that.

but your paths keep crossing. it is a small town, after all.

────

daryl sees you at a party one day, being shoved in a room by three guys that you don’t know beause you’re drunk and your reputation precedes you. he pulls you out of the room and gets in a fight in your honor, one against too many to win but daryl is a dixon and can hold his own. he walks you home and when you thank him he just shakes his head. won’t even look you in the eye. “quit bein fuckin’ stupid,” he says, and it hurts. but you know he’s not wrong.

it’s not your fault that you got shoved in a room, but it is your fault that you can’t say no. it is your fault, that you dumb yourself down so you’re easier to use, anything for a crumb of attention from a man who might be your ticket out of this town. you don’t want to be ashamed, but you are. of the woman you are, of the one you’re becoming - at the things you’ve done, just for an ego boost that ultimately ruined your self esteem even more.

daryl can see through you, even after all this time. and you hate it.

you see him smoking on the steps of a diner a few days later, eye bruised and black and nearly shut. his hair is dark and floppy and he’s so handsome, but your heart hurts when you see that even though he’s getting taller than his dad and merle, even though he’s strong now, the way he always used to wish he was as a kid, with big arms and shoulders from buffing up on his porch with the weights merle has - he’s still a punching bag.

you know the feeling. you gaze down at the bruise on your wrist, hidden by a tight sweater. it’s the sad proof that daryl is a stranger now, that you have to hide things from him that you never would’ve had to hide when you were kids. although: both are fucking sad situaions. the fact that you were kids, bonding over bruises anyway.

you walk up to him, and he offers you a cigarette. you shake your head. “good girl,” he says mockingly, and you hate the way that your body heats up. you can’t deny that you feel like he’s mocking you, like cigarettes are where you draw the line in terms of risky behavior, but you try not to dwell on it. it’s just nice to see him.

“they got you good,” you say, referring to his eye and the party. “thanks for helping me.” you don’t know what else to say, aren’t really thinking - you just want daryl to talk to you again. but daryl just shakes his head, scoffs and walks off. but not before putting his cigarette out, stepping on it with his scuffed up boot.

“wasn’t from that fuckin’ party,” he says, about his eye. “you know that.”

you don’t speak again for years.

────

in a blink of an eye, you go from two damaged kids to two fucked up adults.

daryl, a man now, big and strong and tough. handsome, dirty, rough. you see him in town sometimes, around his brother and their fucked up friends. or maybe they’re just merle’s friends, but you can’t judge. the people you hang around aren’t exactly good.

you hear the whispers about him, how nobody can read him, how he’s stupid, or a creep with anger issues - all things you know aren’t true. you know that, because they say shit about you too. that you’re stupid, slutty, a whore no better than your mother.

you don’t have an excuse for your behavior, but daryl does. you’ve got a television in your room now, and you watched a show one day that talked about…mental stuff. it was a little too complex for you to fully understand, but the doctor on the show explained somet things that just screamed out daryl to you. quiet, sensitive. they talked about some spectrum thing, and you wonder if that’s what daryl is on. why he’s so hard to understand.

why he dropped out when you saw him coming from a classroom that your peers used to always call the idiot class.

you wish you could tell him about it, but then again. what do you know? about life, or even about daryl in general.

you want out of this life, but you don’t know anything else. you don’t know how to get out. you wonder if daryl thinks about the future you used to dream about when you were kids. two apartments in the same complex, so you could always play together but got to experience your own space, you know? a big, color television. you have that now, but so does everyone. a fridge stocked with food and snacks. no beer allowed.

it’s a sad, funny thought. because every time you see daryl in town it’s with a beer bottle in his hand. and you, well - you’re never alone. never have truly experienced your own space that you’ve always yearned for.

these days, you see daryl as a stranger. not as a childhood friend. not anymore. and you certainly don’t see him as your brother. maybe you never did. because your brother is mean, with cruel hands and even crueler words. daryl could never be like that.

and you know that daryl doesn’t see you as his friend or his sister, or as anything different than the people in your town see you, because whenever he sees you at a bar in town, dressed up and on the arm of whatever shitty boyfriend you have, the way he looks at you, with the same disgust he used to look at your brothers with and something else in his eyes - it makes that clear.

although, when you’re hopeful, you hope that disgusted look is meant for whatever man you’re with and not you.

sometimes, when you know you might see him in passing, you dress up just a little sexier. but you’re not sure why. daryl’s not the type to think you’re any happier than you were as a kid, just because your skirt is short and you’re wearing cheap perfume. he’s not fooled by the charms of any woman, because he does have admirers. you embarrass yourself, for even thinking about getting his attention with your body and your looks. this is the same person who used to smear dirt on your face and call you mud queen, pretending to throw arrows with twigs before merle stole him his first crossbow.

daryl could give a shit about cleavage - and he sure as hell doesn’t think being chosen makes someone any more worthy. you should take notes.

while it’s a good feeling that deep inside, daryl might be the same person he always was, it scares you a little bit. because maybe you’re the only one who’s different. and not better in this case.

sometimes you feel even worse off than when you were a kid.

────

you’re walking home from the store one day, bag of groceries on your arm, when you run into daryl. he’s hopping on his motorcycle, and it starts to rain, which sucks - not because you don’t want to get wet, but because you’ve got makeup covering your black eye and the hand prints on your neck, that’ll surely wash off on the long walk back to your house in this weather.

daryl spots you. he’s leaving the gas station. you’re humiliated that of all people, you run into him today. you pretend you don’t see him, and tighten your hold on the bag.

“hey,” he calls out as you pass him. his voice is different. a little deeper than you remember hearing, but you guess it makes sense - you’re both all grown up. you always wished for that, but now you’re not so sure it was the right wish. because you’re in the same position you were in as a kid.

maybe you should’ve wished for a ride out of this town instead.

you look back at daryl, and give a tight lipped smile and nod of your head to let him know you saw him. you keep walking, but as embarrassed as you are, you’re pretty happy that he’s talking to you.

he starts up the motorcycle, and you wait for him to speed by you. a thought occurs to you, that he’s always wanted a bike like that. used to talk about it as a kid, used maple syrup to stick pictures of motorcycles from his father’s magazines to his bedroom wall.

you’re happy for him. it must feel good, to finally get something you want. you don’t know what that feels like. maybe daryl is happy in this town, and it’s just you who’s so miserable you’re projecting that onto everyone else.

the motorcycle stops right beside you, and you’re closer to daryl than you’ve been in years. you see his face, with more lines than he had the last time you spoke to him. but just as handsome as ever, hair longish and dark and in his eyes. you want to push it back, like you did with dirty, sticky hands back when you were kids.

“you need a ride?” he asks shyly, and you swallow hard, wondering if he remembers that was the first thing he said to you back when you were kids. the sentence that started your friendship.

you were stranded at school, your mom run off with a new man and your dad too drunk to give a fuck, brother probably high somewhere. daryl rode by on his run down bike, just slightly too big for him, the parts all mismatched - but at least it was wheels. he rode that thing until merle went to prison and coudn’t steal him anymore parts to fix it.

he asked you that same question then, and you still have the same answer.

“wanna ride?” he’d asked, no backpack or anything even though you were both leaving school. “you live by me. i’ve seen you.” you nodded, and got on, just like now.

it breaks the ice. much like it did when you were kids.

you realize that day, from a thought that's just as sweet as it is scary for someone like you - that history really does repeat itself.

────

suddenly, you’re not avoiding daryl anymore. and he’s not hiding from you. when you see him in town, you walk over to him to talk. you offer to go to his house to get shit for your brother from merle because you know you’ll see daryl, and you share a soda on the porch with him, sitting mostly in quiet, but daryl’s presence has always been comforting to you. not his words.

being around daryl now, as an adult - it doesn’t feel like friendship. it feels like something else. when you see him, ripped arms showing in a vest, his new camaraderie with his brother that feels more equal than it ever has before - you realize you’re attracted to him. it’s the first time you’ve ever though of daryl like that, and even though your friendship or whatever it is is growing, you pull back, scared.

it’s been a long time since you’ve been around a man who just wants to be your friend - and you trust daryl, but it’s hard to believe that’s all he wants. the pressure you’re making up all in your head starts getting to you, and you change.

start wearing makeup to your little porch sessions. a push up bra that’s a size too small. you’re a little jealous, you think one day, sitting on his porch after your own brother punched a hole in your bedroom wall because you drank the last orange soda, that daryl’s big enough now that his brother and father don’t pick on him, while you’re still at the mercy of the two men in your home who will always be bigger and stronger than you.

you see daryl one day when merle and his father are out so he’s alone at his place. you’re in a little, yellow sundress and daryl scoffs at you. “what the hell are you wearin?’” he asks, and you blush, attempting to sit on the dirty stairs of his porch. but he stops you by reaching a hand out and you flinch - and he notices. looks at you like he always did when you were a kid and he heard your father yelling at you. pity, but something like hurt in there too. hurt, maybe, that you flinched around him. but’s it not like you can control those types of reactions. your body is just being cautious.

daryl doesn’t say anything. he just puts that angel wing vest of his on the step so you can sit on it so you don’t ruin your dress, and it’s sweet but it makes you sad.

you’ve never had a guy be thoughtful to you before. only daryl - and that’s pathetic. you’ve shared your body with more men than you can count, and daryl doing something so normal makes you feel incredibly indebted to him.

“just wanted to feel pretty,” you tell him, embarrassed. he looks you over, shakes his head like you’re an idiot. maybe you are. you can’t say you’ve ever had a man not want to see you in a sundress, but you’re happy he’s noticing the effort you put in to be around him.

“don’ have to do shit to be pretty, mud queen,” he says. your stomach erupts in butterflies. he remembers. “yer already the prettiest girl in this garbage town.”

────

weeks go by, of sharing sodas on daryl’s porch, or bringing him those peanut butter sandwiches he likes so much when he stops by yours. eventually, those childlike foods progress to beer, and then somehow, some way, you kiss him.

it just happens. you’ve never been good with boundaries, and daryl has never made a move. you worry, even if you’re not conscious about it, that if you don’t show him you’re interested soon that he’ll be done hanging out with you. men play the long game that way. it’s all a game to them. you know daryl is different but still -

you put yourself out there. or maybe, a better term would be get desperate. you make it clear, how you’re feeling. and after his compliment, calling you the prettiest girl in your entire town, all you can think about is the fact that you got pretend married when you were kids. you found a dirty lace shirt in the back of your closet that must’ve belonged to your mom, and it looked like a veil you saw in a movie. and daryl humored you, used a leaf as a bow tie and held one of your dirty hands in his own as you said i do.

and then you admitted that you don’t know what being married actually means. how could you? you'd never seen a normal example of a family. “i think there’s supposed to be rings,” you remember telling daryl that day, and he just shrugged. “i’ve never heard of that,” he’d said.

but now you’re adults. and you're not a mud queen, you’re the town slut. and daryl isn’t the broody, quiet kid skinning frogs for fun, he’s strong and handsome and a man - and, okay, he's still broody and sinning frogs. but things are different, and so are you, but he’s still the daryl that always brought you peace.

you wonder, pressed arm to arm on his little porch step, what it'd be like to be married to someone like daryl. to daryl dixon himself. but you shake yourself out of those random, childish thoughts, because they do nothing but hurt. with your reputation, there's no way in hell anyone, even a man as kind as daryl, would ever actually marry you.

but daryl's always been your peace. even with the screaming and yelling and the violence in your home, or in this case, with merle screaming at the television inside of the dixon home -

you’re still that same little girl you've always been. desperately looking for someone to care. to love you. you push yourself into daryl’s arms and kiss him, and he kisses back for a second before pulling away. shoving you, although gently, back.

‘’m not one of those losers you gotta fuck for some attention,” he spits, and you’re speechless. embarrassed. he stands up, and you know it’s your cue to leave, especially when merle comes out. he overheard, despite the screaming. or laughing. hard to tell with merle.

“oh hell, little brother,” he teases. “you finally fuck her? wassit been? ten years? how much longer you gunna make her wait? she’s aching for it, comin’ here all the time. you sure your pecker works?” he goes on and on.

they starts bickering, and you leave, heading back to your home with nothing your brother asked of you - weed, something stronger. you’ve got nothing but the last piece of self-worth in your hand, and you want to just toss it down the toilet and flush it.

what kind of woman puts the moves on a man? it's so desperate. you're mortified, and as you pass the mirror in the entryway of your shitty home, you feel like the ugliest person on the planet.

of course, not having what your brother asked for causes a fight, only - you’re not daryl, and you’re not strong. it’s not a fair fight, and you end up with bruises so bad you just pack your sundress away, because there’s no way in hell you’ll get to wear it again by the time summer is over. it's long-sleeved shirts from now on.

you think you ruined whatever you had with daryl and you hate yourself. how stupid you were, treating him like some other guy. just because that’s the only way you connect with other men, doesn't mean that's the way to connect with daryl. you should known that, better than anyone.

you ignore him. avoid him. but it’s not like he’s seeking you out.

until one day, he comes to your window.

that’s how he used to ask you if you wanted to play, when you were kids. would walk through the dense woods, because he said he was never scared - which was a lie, because you’d seen his eyes when his father pulled his belt out of the closet one day. but maybe he just meant he was never scared of anything in the woods. he would throw a rock at your window to get your attention. anytime you ever watch a romantic movie with a window scene, you always think about daryl - and you wonder why it took so long for you to see him in that light.

why it took so long to realize that daryl dixon is so much more than the dirty, damaged boy you knew as a kid. but maybe that’s because it’s a scary realization. would mean that you could be more than the damaged, dirty little girl you used to be - and if that’s the case…what do you do? how do you move on and learn to live as someone you’ve never even known you could be?

you open your window when daryl taps on the glass. he doesn’t use a rock this time, probably because he remembers when your father shoved you against a wall for throwing a book against the television once as an accident. now that you think about it - the rock throwing did stop after that incident.

when you see daryl and open your window, all you say is, “i'm sorry.” he doesn’t say anything else, just crawls through the window, body almost too big, and lands with a thud after almost tripping. you giggle, so happy he’s not mad.

“room looks different,” he comments, sitting on your bed. he looks funny, a little filthy and all dark clothes, on your ratty, floral print bed covers in your trashy, uber pink room. you wish you’d cleaned up, but you never have anyone in here who matters.

never have had a man in your room who’s more interested in the design of of it rather than the little pajama set you’ve got on. you nod.

"i’m all grown up now, daryl,” you remind him, standing in front of him. “and so are you.” you’re not trying to excuse kissing him or making him uncomfortable, but maybe he forgot. you’re not kids. you’re not friends - you don’t call yourself brother and sister to the people at school after they question why daryl always shares his lunch with you.

it’s okay if he wants to kiss you back.

you wish he would.

he just looks at the ground, at your dirty carpet, the red nail polish on your toes that are so close to touching his boots. you follow his gaze. and then, he notices the bruises on your arms.

“whos been hurtin’ you?” he asks, and you understand why. you’re always seen with a different guy around town. or, you were, before daryl filled the void a few months ago. maybe he thinks it’s someone from town, but you’re too embarrassed to admit that it’s not. or maybe, he forgot that just because he’s bigger, can handle his brother and father - you’re not. it feels like he should really be asking who’s hurting you now?

you understand now, how he felt that day outside the diner. on the spot. like the answer is obvious, and someone is just trying to pry the truth you’re so ashamed of from your mouth. you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you answer. “you know who.”

he looks from you to the door, hearing your brother laugh at something that’s playing on the television, before visibly taking a deep breath. he shakes his head as he exhales, pausing before his eyes look into yours. he’s quiet for so long, that you shift on your feet, looking for something to fill the silence the way his large frames fills your room.

“i don’t think of you like the other guys, daryl. i just. i dunno. i felt comfortable with you and,” you don’t know what to say. you’ve never had to apologize for coming onto someone before - and you’ve definitely never had anyone apologize for coming onto you.

he looks at you, neutral expression on his face, and then he sighs.

“come here,” he says, tugging you closer by the hand. gently. you stand between his legs, in nothing but your pajama camisole and a pair of shorts, and he kisses you. has to lean up a little from sitting, but it works. he wraps his arms around you, holds your body close, and when he rubs a hand down your back, your body shudders with sobs.

daryl is a good kisser. sweet. he’s timid, and you can tell he hasn’t had much experience. not compared to you, where kissing is like breathing at this point. you like that about him - it makes you, selfishly, happy.

but you’re still crying.

daryl pulls away, visibly confused and worried, but you you push yourself back in his arms. like a stray kitten, who's not taking no for an answer now that it's finally being shown some love.

you’ve never been kissed so gently. never been touched so gently. you never thought about what it’d be like to kiss daryl until recently, but you didn’t know it’d feel so, so. soft? the opposite of home? warm and calm and safe. maybe it's what home should feel like. you lose yourself in him, even with the sound of your brother screaming at the television and hitting the wall in the other room.

you cry like an idiot in daryl’s arms, even as he kisses you. some first kiss between you two.

when you were a kid, you never cried. always prided yourself on being strong and tough - just like your best friend daryl. maybe you have changed more than you realized. you sniffle, and sit beside him at the end of your bed, but he still holds loosely onto your hand.

“you’re the only one who has ever held me without hurting me, daryl,” you admit. sheepishly, with heat in your cheeks, you sort of shrug. “you’re the best man i know.”

you don't know what this is between you two. what it could be, what it will be. what you want it to be. you just know that it feels like the strings of fate wove together to give you both someone to count on. someone who understands. unlike when you were a child, tonight, in daryl’s presence, you don’t hope or wish for anything.

you don’t care what that kiss meant. you just don’t want daryl to go.

daryl says nothing at first, just strokes a hand down the back of your head, a comforting gesture you’re not sure where he learned, considering the way he grew up.

if you weren't so upset, you'd realize that his mother used to comfort him like that. the few times she ever did.

“yeah,” he finally replies, swallowing hard, like the compliment isn’t one at all. maybe he just doesn’t like what it means for you. “that’s a shame.”

and that’s it. you’re inseparable again.

────

after that night spent together, you don’t kiss again. but you touch. something is different between you two. you’re more than just the former friends you used to be, but there’s a line you haven’t crossed.

it sort of feels like it’s always been, you know? you and daryl. daryl and you. you see each other almost every day, but it's hard since you both still live at home. you stopped sneaking him in your room when your father ran into daryl at a bar and slapped him on the shoulder. said, “so you’re the one screwin’ my daughter now, huh? enjoy it while it lasts, dixon. she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

daryl had to punch a hole in the wall of the men’s bathroom to stop from punching your father in the face. he wants to hurt him, you know. your brother too. now that he’s big enough, no longer the little boy that used to help cover for whatever mistake would get you hit as a kid because he lacked physical strength, he wants to be the friend he’s always wished he could be.

but you tell him no. it’ll just complicate things. you still live at home, and he can’t be there every second to protect you. daryl seems pissed, but he understands. has the scars on his back to prove how just much he does.

but things are good. as good as they can get, anyway. you spend a lot of time together. find an empty field behind your homes and lay on the grass together, watching the stars. he never tries to kiss you again, but he lets you hold his hand or nuzzle against his arm. and that’s enough. it is.

shit’s getting crazy in town. a few hours away, in the big city, there’s word going on about people getting sick and dying. first it’s a fever, and then they’re up and walking and trying to bite others. you don’t understand, but daryl tells you not to worry. you want to trust him, and you do, for the most part -

but it's getting worse every day. people are dropping dead all around. which would be horrible in itself, except for the terrifying fact that they don’t stay dead. they get back up, and they - the walkers - try to attack and -

that’s what daryl says they’re called. you see your first one when daryl’s walking you back from your spot on the field. it looks like the man that owns the old convenience store, but he’s growling, and he’s trying to walk towards you, and his scalp is missing and you’re so scared you start crying.

daryl kills him with a big rock. you’re shaking, hysterical when you get home, and daryl walks you inside. “your dad home? brother?” he asks from the doorway, but you don’t see their truck or the television on, their staple. you shake your head, and he comes inside.

“shit’s going to hit the fan. you understand?” he asks, and you don’t. you’re scared. you’re confused. and you’re worried. but you nod anyway.

“you need to be ready for,” but the sound of a car driving into the garage and alerts you that’s someone’s home. daryl looks at you, then the door that leads into the house from the garage, before nodding. “i’m gunna go. gunna get some shit together and check on merle. i’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. pack a bag or sumthin’ just in case,” he says, and for the first time in all the times he’s walked you home lately, he looks shy as he leans in and kisses your cheek.

he’s out the door before your brother and father even drunkenly stumble in the house.

you obey what daryl says. you lock yourself in your room, and you’re not sure what daryl meant by be ready, but you grab a bag from your closet and fill it with clothes. just in case, right? who knew it’d take an apocalyptic situation to get you to finally leave this shitty town.

you’re worried, about daryl. you count the minutes until he comes back, because it's getting later and later and he’s not here yet. the sound of the clock, the tick tock tick tock makes you want to puke. you honestly consider trying to empty your stomach in the bathroom before your body makes you puke on its own when there’s a sound outside your door.

the door opens. it’s your brother.

“get your shit,” he orders, your door bouncing off your wall. there's a hole in the wall from the doorknob being constantly slammed against it. you catch a glimpse on the skinny part of the door that's normally hidden when it's closed - it still has the height markers you and daryl used to measure yourself with. he's everywhere, has always been, even when you don't notice.

your brother looks down at your bag already packed, purse on top of it. “shit, you already did. where you goin’?” you open your mouth to answer, but then your father is walking behind him, both of them peering at you with so much suspicion in their eyes you actually feel like you did something wrong.

“you planning’ on leavin us as soon as shit goes wrong? we’ve put a roof over your head for how many years? and now, what? you think dixon is gonna save you? that fuckin' re," he stops before he finishes that statement. even he knows better. besides, he'd never be mad at another man - only his daughter gets that special treatment.

"we’re all gonna die, girl. you first. can’t fight, can’t think, can’t do nuthin but pass yourself around town.” your father won’t stop, and you try not to cry, but you really just wish daryl would come back. your hands are shaking when they try to zip up your jacket, but it seems like that just pisses your brother off more. that you’re avoiding their angry outburst.

there’s nothing an angry man likes more than getting someone else angry. so he has an excuse to be the asshole he is at his core. you’re not going to give them the satisfaction.

in the distance, there’s a noise like an explosion. the sound of alarms going off from the neighboring city, the smell of smoke, so strong it actually masks the smell of cigarettes in your own home, which you didn’t think would be possible. tears start flowing from your eyes.

but it’s not because of the state of emergency in the city. on your brother and father’s face you see fear - something you’ve never seen before. and then it all happens so fast.

your brother reaches out and pushes you down. grabs you by the hair and hurts you, hurts you, hurts you. your father only interrupts to tell him it’s time to go, and they leave you, alone on the ground with new bruises and trauma to take with you wherever you go.

they used you, like always, to mask their own fears and pain. at this point, you really feel numb.

daryl comes back, a few hours later. you’ve been staring at the floor, scared to move. the town is literally a hellscape right now, the sound of people breaking windows, screaming, growling. you stay as quiet as possible on your bedroom floor, and you almost jump out of your skin when you realize it’s daryl coming through your window.

“you good?” he asks, a huge bag slung over his shoulder. he’s in a rush, you can tell, is looking around the room with a frequency you’ve never seen in him. he’s reading the situation, and he sees it written all over you.

but you see through him too. he’s scared, but he’s trying to be casual as to not scare you. you wonder where he learned to be gentleman - sure as hell wasn’t from any man in this town.

when you don’t answer, he tosses his bag down and pulls you up, grabs your little bag too and hands you your purse. there’s a little stuffed bunny keychain hung on it, and it looks so fucking stupid for the severity of the situation happening outside your window. you rip it off and daryl notices but doesn’t say anything.

“c’mon. we gotta go. i grabbed some supplies, i’ve got my bike. can’t stay here. it’s crazy outside,” and he goes on and on but you’re not really listening.

you interrupt, just as he helps you to the front door. “my brother and dad. they left,” you say, embarrassed to admit. yeah, you both know you’d be leaving with daryl - but the fact that they didn’t even care about what happens to you hurts more than you thought. maybe you convinced yourself, all these years, that they were so hard on you because they loved you. showed they cared in different ways - kind of like merle with daryl.

you were wrong. because your arm hurts, your hand is cramping, and you’re pretty sure you’re missing hair from the way your brother hurt you. it’d be tough to fight a walker at your full health, but right now, you’re completely useless.

thank god for daryl dixon.

daryl freezes, pauses. looks down before ushering you to his motorcycle. “yeah,” he says, nodding. he won’t look you in the eye. “i know.” another pause. “c’mon. we gotta go.”

he leads you to his motorcycle, and you hop on. it’s kind of impossible to get comfortable, because you’re holding two fucking bags and trying to hold on for your life, but you manage. daryl speeds off, and you wonder how a normal day could turn into such chaos. fire blazes through the trees and neighboring city. there’s these, these - things walking around, slowly, growling.

you hold onto daryl tighter. press your face in his back and breathe in the comforting smell of him. he smells like home - cigarettes, cheap detergent, woodsy.

you want to ask about merle. about your own brother and dad. how you can just leave them, how that’s fair, but you just can’t. you’re scared, but you still know the best place for you to be right now is with daryl.

you just know. and anyway, it’s not like anyone else gave a fuck about you to make sure you got anywhere safe.

that day daryl picked you up on his motorcycle in the rain - you imagined what it’d be like if he just kept going. if you didn’t stop on your street, if you didn’t have to go home. you pictured the two of you driving somewhere better, so long as it was out of this fucking town.

but you never imagined it’d be like this. with the walking dead running after you, cars stalled on their journey out of town because the walkers got to them before they could drive off. fire in the distance, the sound of some alarm going off so loudly you can hardly think. the dead litter the streets - walking, but also just laying there.

and then you see them. you're not even a few minutes away form your house. they’re laying on the ground, right next to a truck you’re sure you’ll see in your dreams for years to come. it belongs to your father.

“daryl,” you say, but he keeps driving. you’re certain the people on the ground are your father and your brother, a group of those things surrounding them, ready to dig in. “daryl,” you say again, “stop the bike.” but he doesn’t. you turn your head to look back, almost dropping your bag, but you catch a glimpse of the muscle in your brother’s arm being torn out. the muscle he always utilized to hurt you.

you sob into daryl’s back.

────

you keep driving until daryl’s bike needs gas. there’s a long road that leads to all the major highways, and it’s completely jam packed. you’ve been on the road for hours, so daryl parks the bike, tells you the run down of the plan that you’re not even listening to because you’re so scared and frozen. he's beyond frustrated with you, but he leads you to a spot in the woods to spend the night.

it’s risky, being anywhere right now. but daryl knows what he’s doing more than you do. you trust him, more than anyone else you’ve ever met. more than you even trust yourself.

“did you,” you start to ask, wanting to know if he was the one who saw your brother and father and put them on the ground. you couldn’t see the blood or how they died, but there was no gunshot wound. it was too clean, and you counted the arrows daryl has left in his crossbow. he's missing two.

“yeah,” he answers coldly, leaning against a tree with a sigh. he pulls out a bottle of water from his bag and hands it to you, and you take a greedy sip before realizing you better learn to ration. embarrassed, you hand the water back to daryl who raises his brows in amusement and puts the bottle back in his bag. you think that’s it. that he’s not going to talk about what happened, what he did, anymore.

but you’re wrong.

“been waiting for a chance to do that. ‘ve wanted to, for a long time. now that the world is shit, thought there’s no better chance, you know? no police, no laws,” he seems proud of himself, but even though you’re not close to your brother and dad, them being dead is still painful.

daryl’s not stupid. far from it. he reads your expression and then hands the water back to you. anything to stop the look you’re giving him. it looks like fear, you know -

but anyone looking a little deeper can see that it’s gratitude.

────

it’s been just the two of you for weeks.

you spend those weeks sharing a little tent, eating the animals daryl catches and cooks for you, wanting to cry at the sheer discomfort that not bathing has brought on. you're itchy, you're tired, you're hungry - but most of all, you're scared.

you don't know how daryl does it. wakes up every morning after a shitty night sleep to hunt for food to feed you both, to protect the both of you against walkers, since you still haven't got the hang of it.

the first few nights, things weren't so bad. the reality of the situation wasn't yet known. deep down, you thought something would be able to save you both from this mess. you were wrong.

but on those nights, you curled up against daryl in the tiny tent, and tried to take his mind off of the sound of distance cries and screams.

"we shared a tent before this, remember?" you asked. he just shook his head. it was actually the night you got fake married. both your brothers and fathers went to some poker game, and you both knew it'd be impossible to sleep at home. so you found a sleeping bag in your garage, and daryl found a tent in his, and the both of you camped out in the woods, too scared to go home.

"married people live together," you remember daryl saying while he zipped up the tent and you opened up a can of expired ravioli. you just shrugged, shared the food with him, and spent the night telling stories about what your future would be like.

you didn't imagine this, but it's like history is repeating itself again.

────

a few weeks later, you find a group to join.

it’s when you’re looking for a place to sleep after moving through the forest, dirty and hungry, that you come across a camp. you hear a child laugh, and then the sound of a woman's voice, and before you know it you're tugging daryl towards the sound while he drags his feet and curses.

he doesn’t want to see anyone else, let alone join anyone else. but you do. you don't know a lot about surviving, but you do know that pretty soon, you're both going to be walker food if you don't eat something proper. if you don't get a full night of rest. it's impossible, to live like this as two people.

it's been days since you even had more than a sip of water.

you both need help, you need -

“do you need a place to stay?” a man says, walking towards you and daryl while you try to reason with him. he scoffs, and you’re too tired to roll your eyes. you nod to the man, and then a woman appears. they must've heard you bickering while you walked towards the sound of their camp. they look friendly. they seem nice. and so you go with them, tugging daryl behind you.

it’s like asking for help makes him feel like a failure. but he goes because he knows you want to, and mutters something when you’re alone about looking for merle again when he gets his strength back. you tell him okay, good plan, knowing and hoping you never see merle dixon ever again. not that you’d ever tell daryl that.

daryl just feels like your other half these days. bonded now, not just from the childhood trauma you shared - but also this situation. you don't hold hands, you only touch to keep each other warm. you don't smile - and sometimes it feels like daryl regrets ever bringing you along with him. you're dead weight, and extra mouth to feed.

you don't know what he's thinking because he won't open up.

the first night at camp, you have dinner with the rest of the group. but you still haven’t had a chance to freshen up. there’s mud on your face and caked under your nails when someone asks daryl who you two are to each other, he pauses for so long that it's actually uncomfortable.

you’re more than friends, but you’re not exactly friendly. you're not close, beyond the memories that you share, that you're not even sure if daryl remembers.

you're stuffing your face with a can of chili, wondering why you're worried about a relationship status during the fucking apocalypse, and you're so in your own world that you don't see the way daryl is looking at you.

you take his word so literally - because you trust him so much. when he told you, ages ago, that he didn't get scared - you must've believed him.

because he's terrified. of losing you. of misreading what you want from him. of admitting, that every single memory with you is etched into the forefront of his brain. that he had to distance himself from you back then, because you deserve more than a hick like him, and watching you destroy yourself never came easy. that he wonders if you'll ever forgive him, for what he did to your dad and your brother.

there has never been a day that has gone by that he hasn't thought about you. and all day long since this shit started, he feels like he's failing you. can't feed you enough, can't find a good enough shelter.

and he looks at you, with mud and dirt on your face, messy hair. even at your worst, you're better than another woman's best, and he sees the greedy eyes of the men around the campfire, wondering if you're free. daryl doesn't know these men. he doesn't know if these people are safe, women and kids here be damned. that doesn't mean shit, not when people put themselves first to survive.

he thinks about the tent you shared a decade ago, after that fake wedding ceremony he went through with to make you happy. how it felt when your soft lips pressed against his before you left town. how you want him, how you never give up on trying to connect with him, even when he doesn't open up back to you. he likes that you're chatty. likes that you're trusting, and even dirty and starved you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

but when he sees the mud on your face, your hands, your clothes - and he sees the men looking at you, leering, he makes up his mind.

a lot has changed. but not how he feels about you. you're still his mud queen, the girl that loved him so much she said yes to marrying him, even without a ring.

“she’s my wife,” daryl says, and that's it. the rest of the men look away, because a man's claim is more important than a woman's own voice. and daryl knew that’d be the case. he knows men. he is one, even if he sometimes hates that he is - particularly when you flinch from a movement he makes, or go all quiet when he raises his voice. being apart of a gender that can do so much hurt has always made him feel like an outsider.

at his words, you don't even think about the way history is repeating once again. because your history, your past that you share with daryl - they've been the best parts of your life. and instead of trying to run from them, to avoid them because of what they mean - you should embrace them.

connection formed during the worst hours of your life is still connection. and you're done feeling ashamed.

daryl throws a look your way. one that feels like you're sharing your own secret world. like you did as kids.

but most importantly, you're riding on a high, because daryl dixon might be a man of few words. he might be more guarded than a maximum security prison, might be ashamed of his emotions and wants and everything else that makes him human. but -

he remembers.

the childhood you shared. the memories you made. history may be repeating - but that doesn’t mean you can’t make new memories together.

life is different now. tough. and it’s all about survival. but then again -

when has life ever been anything different for you and daryl?

so you put yourself out there again, this time without fear. you put the can of chili down and reach for his hand.

but daryl grabs yours first.

[starastrologyy]

Venus in Partners houses!🖤

“Love is not just a feeling, but a deep connection that transforms us, making us feel seen, valued, and whole.”

Please do not repost anything that I write on other social media platforms!🤍 I only have a TikTok & a tumblr! I also created this post with romantic synastry in mind x

Venus in Partner’s 1st house

This is one of the best indications of physical attraction in synastry (this is especially true if the Venus individual’s Venus makes a conjunction to the house person’s Ascendant). The Ascendant person is the physical embodiment of everything that the Venus person finds attractive. Their connection is likely one that is filled with mutual admiration, physical affection, and appreciation. Furthermore, the pair are likely to enjoy each other’s company, and they are apt to express their love, admiration, and appreciation for each other with ease.

Venus in Partner’s 2nd house

Venus is very comfortable in the 2nd house, as it is a Venus ruled house. When someone’s Venus falls into your 2nd house, you may find that they impact your finances, values, & personal resources. Unless Venus is adversely aspected, the Venus person is likely going to want to spend money on you (vice versa). The 2nd house also deals with security, self-worth, possessions, & the things that we deem valuable. Thus, themes of possessiveness & control can arise if one or both partners lack a solid sense of security or self-worth. Ultimately this overlay contends that the relationship is likely to have a strong focus on shared values, stability, and material security.

Venus in Partner’s 3rd house

Although the 3rd house is not a traditionally ‘romantic house’. People who are highly mercurial or air dominant are likely to appreciate 3rd house synastry overlays. Venus in a partners 3rd house indicates that your romantic connection is a byproduct of a strong intellectual bond . Both partners are likely to feel a strong sense of affection & connection when learning together and engaging in stimulating conversations. The pair are also likely to connect through humor, lively banter, & a shared sense of curiosity. If you value words of affirmation in your romantic relationships, you are likely to enjoy 3rd house synastry.

Venus in Partner’s 4th house

When someone’s Venus falls into your 4th house, emotional support, comfort, protection, & trust are key themes in your connection. Furthermore, you are likely to connect over shared values involving matters related to home, family, & emotional foundations. You are also inclined to treat each other with kindness, empathy, and compassion. Hence, you may even begin to feel like ‘home’ to each other as time goes on. The house person in particular, will appreciate the Venus individuals reassurance, nurturing, and emotional support. Interestingly, this a synastry placement/overlay that you often see in the synastry charts of couples who eventually move in together & those who genuinely enjoy living together.

Venus in Partner’s 5th house

This is a very fun, romantic, & playful overlay. The pair are likely connect over creativity, mutual hobbies, or matters involving children. This is another overlay that can indicate that a strong physical attraction exists between two people. Hence, it’s not uncommon to have a child or children with someone you have 5H synastry with. Venus in the 5th house often gets a bad rep, given it’s lighthearted ‘fling’ energy. However, if there are Saturn aspects that are being made to Venus, this may in fact be a long term relationship where the attraction strengthens/remains consistent over time.

Venus in Partner’s 6th house

This overlay emphasizes routine, service, and health. If “Acts of service” are one of your primary love languages, you are likely to appreciate/enjoy this overlay. Moreover, the Venus person in particular is apt to want to find ways to show their love for the house person though practical, every day actions. Thus, they essentially want to make the house persons life easier. For example, they may offer to pick up their dry cleaning, or take them to run errands. Ultimately, this connection is based on dependability, practical support, and acts of service.

Venus in Partner’s 7th house

Venus is very comfortable in the 7th house, as it is the house that governs partnerships, marriage, and close relationships. Thus, when someone’s Venus falls into your 7th house, they express their love & values in a manner that is in alignment with how you would like your ideal partner to express their love & appreciation. This is an overlay that you often see in the synastry charts of committed partners or spouses (unless the Venus person’s Venus adversely aspects the house persons Uranus etc..). Nevertheless, Venus in the 7th house in synastry can assert that you and your partner are likely to adopt a very idealistic & tolerant view of the relationship & each other within this connection.

Venus in Partner’s 8th house

The sexual attraction is likely to be very high in this connection. Moreover, the chemistry between the pair can feel intense, sultry, and binding! This is by no means a lighthearted or superficial connection. The relationship is likely to be highly transformative & emotionally charged. Both people in this connection will be required to navigate complex dynamics of trust, vulnerability, and emotional depth. 8th house synastry can often feel intoxicating which makes it difficult to let go. Yet, it tests our psychological strength & encourages us to heal the parts of ourselves that we have repressed or neglected.

Venus in Partners 9th house

When someone’s Venus falls into your 9th house, (vice versa), they are likely to stimulate your desire for expansion & exploration. This is especially true where matters related to higher education, foreign travel, religion/spirituality, and philosophy are concerned. As a couple, you may travel a lot, or spend a significant amount of time exploring different cultures & belief systems. As the house person, you may even begin to idealize the Venus person & place them on a pedestal, as they are likely to be a source of inspiration and enlightenment. Both partners are apt to grow tremendously as people, within this connection.

Venus in Partner’s 10th house

This is a wonderful overlay to have if you and your partner plan to work together/do business together. In this connection, the 10th house person may enjoy being seen publicly with the Venus person, as the Venus person has the potential to enhance their public image. Whereas, the Venus person will want to offer their support & encouragement to the house person, when it comes to the pursuit of their ambitions & career objectives. Hence, mutual admiration, respect, and career support are apt to be present in this union. However, there can be times when one or both people may feel as if the other cares too much about their career/public perception & thus the connection can feel superficial at times, if there aren’t any other synastry aspects that indicate that a strong emotional, romantic or intellectual bond exists between the pair.

Venus in Partner’s 11th house

This overlay contends that the connection is likely to be founded on a strong basis of friendship. The pair are inclined to be very accepting of each other’s quirks & eccentricities. Furthermore, the Venus person is likely to introduce the house person to new networks and social contacts. This can also be a very supportive bond when it comes to their shared goals & aspirations. Ultimately, this is a union in which both individuals are apt to feel accepted and valued for who they truly are.

Venus in Partner’s 12th house

When someone’s Venus falls into your 12th house you may feel inexplicably drawn to them. In some instances, this may be a hidden connection or it may be a connection where feelings are not openly expressed for whatever reason. However, Venus in the 12th house can also be indicative of a connection where both partners love & support each other unconditionally. Yet, they can also become each other’s blind spots. Meaning, they may not always see each other very clearly. Hence, there’s likely to be a very idealistic & sometimes unrealistic quality to this relationship. Nevertheless, the love that this overlay produces can often feel destined, transcendent, & highly spiritual.

As usual, my chart readings are open, and the link is in the bio for those interested! :) x

[xhoess]

Midnight Melodies

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Warnings: Strong languag, Sexual content, Emotional tension, Intimate/romantic scenes, Fluff and angst, Mentions of uncertainty in relationships, Explicit content.

Wc: 10,3 K

Masterlist

If there was one thing everyone at Eden Academy could agree on, it was that Kim Hongjoong was perfect.

Student council president. Straight A’s. Teachers loved him, students respected him, and somehow, he made wearing a uniform look effortless. If someone needed help, Hongjoong was the first to offer. If there was an issue, he fixed it before anyone else even noticed.

You, on the other hand, were a little more… invisible. Not a bad student, not a standout. Just another face in the music club, trying to keep things afloat.

Which is why you were standing outside the student council room, gripping the petition for your club’s funding like a lifeline. This is fine, you told yourself. Just go in, ask him for help, and leave.

Taking a breath, you knocked.

"Come in,” a voice called.

The room was pristine, every file and folder stacked with precise care. And there, at the center of it all, was him.

Hongjoong sat behind his desk, a black pen twirling between his fingers. His eyes lifted when you entered, scanning you in that unreadable way that made people nervous.

“Ah,” he said, setting his pen down. “You’re from the music club, right?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling too aware of yourself. “Yeah. I—uh—wanted to talk about the budget cuts. We’re supposed to compete next month, but without funding, we can’t afford equipment or travel costs.” You placed the petition on his desk. “We got over a hundred signatures. I was hoping you could—”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples like he already knew where this was going.

"The school board’s been strict this year,” he said. “They want to prioritize ‘academic-focused’ programs.”

Your stomach dropped. “So, what? We just get pushed aside?”

He gave you a look. Not unkind, but unreadable. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. But I can’t promise anything.”

You stared at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “You’re the president. If anyone can convince them, it’s you.”

For the first time, Hongjoong hesitated. His fingers tapped against the desk, his gaze flickering—just for a second—before settling back into his usual cool expression.

“I’ll try.”

The words felt like a deflection. Something was off about his tone, but before you could question it, he stood, effectively ending the conversation.

“Was there anything else?”

You clenched your jaw. “No. Thanks for your time, President Kim.”

Turning on your heel, you left, irritation simmering under your skin.

Why did it feel like he already knew the answer before you even walked in?

The school was quiet, unnervingly so. The usual bustle of students, the sounds of lockers slamming and chatter filling the hallways—gone. Only the steady ticking of the clock seemed to echo in the silence.

You had no intention of staying this late. The last few hours had been a blur of rewriting your club’s proposal, attempting to salvage any chance of getting the funding you desperately needed. But time had slipped away, and now it was far past curfew.

10:42 PM flashed on your phone screen as you stuffed your papers into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. You hurried down the hallway toward the nearest exit, hoping the janitors hadn’t locked the gates yet.

Just as you reached the door, though, a sound stopped you cold.

Music.

At first, you thought it was an illusion. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, longing for some background noise after so much silence. But then the beat hit again—deep, pulsing, relentless. It wasn’t the usual classical stuff the school played during assemblies, nor was it anything you’d heard during practice with the club. This was… different.

Intrigued and a bit confused, you turned toward the source. The sound was coming from an old classroom at the end of the hallway, one that had long since been abandoned for more modern spaces. The door was slightly ajar, a thin strip of light spilling into the darkness of the hallway.

You hesitated, your heart starting to race. The music sounded raw, emotional—real.

As you quietly approached the door, you peered through the crack, eyes widening at what you saw.

There, sitting at an old desk cluttered with various music equipment, was Kim Hongjoong.

But not the Hongjoong you knew—the student council president who always kept his uniform crisp, his hair perfectly styled, his demeanor immaculate.

No, this Hongjoong was lost in the music, head tilted down as his fingers flew over a laptop’s touchpad. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean forearms. His tie was loosened, hanging sloppily around his neck. The usual sharpness in his eyes was softened by the dim glow of the screen, his expression focused, intense.

This wasn’t the perfect student—this was a person completely immersed in his art.

The music swelled, the bass pounding in your chest, and you could feel the energy in the room—a deep, throbbing force that seemed to pulse through the very walls. It was raw and unfiltered, the kind of sound that felt more like a confession than a performance. It wasn’t the kind of music that would be welcomed at Eden Academy’s polished events.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Hongjoong wasn’t just studying. He was creating something—something entirely different, something he had been hiding from everyone.

A sudden, loud beat made you flinch, your foot shifting on the floor with an audible creak.

He heard you.

Hongjoong’s head snapped up, eyes locking with yours in an instant. For a split second, there was only silence—the thrum of the music fading as he froze, his gaze sharp but not quite as controlled as usual.

You both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then the music abruptly stopped, replaced by a tense stillness that filled the room.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice was low, more gravelly than you expected, his usual confident tone softened by something that felt closer to a mix of frustration and surprise.

Your heart was still pounding, but you stepped into the room, a challenge rising in your chest. "I could ask you the same thing."

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, clearly rattled. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, standing up and pushing his chair back. “I didn’t mean for anyone to find out.”

You looked at the screen of his laptop, where the remnants of the music project remained, the waveform still visible. "This isn’t school-approved music, is it?"

Hongjoong was quiet for a long moment, his hands resting on the edge of the desk as if he didn’t know whether to shut the laptop or leave it exposed.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing his temples. "No. It’s not."

You tilted your head, stepping closer to him. “Why? Why are you hiding this?"

The edge in his voice softened slightly, but his eyes remained guarded. “Because if they find out, it’s over. This isn’t what they want. I’m supposed to be the model student, the ‘perfect president,’ the one who plays by the rules.” He shook his head, almost as if he was frustrated with himself. “But I’m not. I don’t fit the image they want me to have.”

Your brow furrowed. “You love this, don’t you?”

Hongjoong’s gaze flickered, and for the first time in this conversation, he looked vulnerable. “Yeah,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. “I do.”

He glanced at the desk, avoiding your eyes. You could see the conflict in the way his hands gripped the edge of the table—like he was torn between two worlds.

“You don’t have to hide it, Hongjoong,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “Why don’t you just fight for it? You’re the student council president. You can make a change. You can—”

He cut you off, his voice rough. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.”

You took a step closer, and for a moment, the distance between you two felt like miles—emotional miles. You had never seen him like this before, so raw, so... real.

The tension in the room thickened, and your pulse quickened as Hongjoong’s gaze drifted to your lips. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but for a brief second, it felt like the world had shifted. Like the perfect, untouchable student president had become... something else entirely.

“Then explain it to me,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly, a mix of curiosity and something else.

His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something—something that might have changed everything. But instead, he swallowed, his jaw tightening.

“Some things… you just can’t explain,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His hand, almost of its own volition, reached out, brushing against your wrist. The contact was electric.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped back, avoiding your eyes. He was pushing you away, but not quite in the way you expected.

“Go home, before someone catches you here,” he said, his tone colder now, but still laced with that underlying tension.

You stood still for a moment, processing everything—the music, his confession, the way his hand had lingered on yours.

Before you could speak, he was already turning back to his laptop, shutting the lid with finality.

“Go.”

You wanted to say something. You wanted to argue, to demand more answers, but instead, you simply nodded, leaving the room with the weight of his secret pressing down on your chest.

Kim Hongjoong wasn’t who you thought he was.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure where this path was taking you anymore.

The days following that night were frustrating, to say the least.

You had seen him—the real Hongjoong, not the perfectly polished student council president. You had heard his music, felt the weight of his emotions in every note. And yet, when you saw him at school, he acted like nothing had happened.

In the hallways, he walked past you without a second glance. In class meetings, he spoke with the same cool authority, as if he hadn’t confessed something deeply personal just a few nights ago.

And it pissed you off.

Because now that you had seen that version of him, you couldn’t unsee it. Now that you had felt that tension crackle in the air between you, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

So, on Friday night, when you found yourself standing in front of the abandoned classroom again, it wasn’t hesitation you felt. It was determination.

This time, you weren’t going to let him push you away.

You pushed the door open without knocking.

The music was already playing.

And there he was—exactly where you expected him to be.

Hongjoong sat hunched over his laptop, the dim glow of the screen casting a soft light on his face. He was dressed more casually tonight. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, his white dress shirt slightly wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was gone, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of collarbone.

He looked comfortable.

He looked like himself.

But when the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t look up.

“You’re back,” he murmured, fingers adjusting a sound level on his mixer.

“I had questions,” you said, stepping forward. “But you ignored me all day.”

A hint of amusement flickered across his face, but he still didn’t look at you. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Oh, really?” You folded your arms. “So you just happened to walk past me five times today without seeing me?”

Now, he smirked. Smirked.

“Maybe,” he said.

The smugness in his voice made something snap in you.

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

Before he could respond, you marched across the room and closed his laptop.

The music stopped abruptly.

Hongjoong froze, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Then, slowly, he looked up at you.

And that was when the tension shifted.

Because now, his eyes weren’t distant. They weren’t indifferent.

They were burning.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

You met his gaze, refusing to back down. “Then explain it to me.”

A heavy silence stretched between you. The only sound in the room was the soft buzz of the equipment and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Then, Hongjoong did something you didn’t expect.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then tugged you down into the chair beside him.

You yelped slightly as your knees brushed against his, your shoulder bumping his arm. The proximity sent a sharp jolt of awareness through your body.

Hongjoong leaned in, voice quieter now. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, trying not to focus on how warm he was next to you, how his scent—a mix of cologne, coffee, and something distinctly him—wrapped around you like an unintentional trap.

He reached for his laptop, flipping it back open.

“Then listen.”

The music started again, softer this time, as if he had adjusted it just for you.

You sat there, side by side, listening to the melody pour from the speakers. The beat was slower, deeper—less controlled, more raw. It wasn’t polished like the music you were used to hearing in school competitions.

It was honest.

As the song played, you found yourself leaning closer, drawn into the way Hongjoong’s fingers moved so effortlessly over the controls. The way he adjusted the sound with care, like each note meant something to him.

“You made this?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

“It’s…” You struggled to find the right words. “It feels personal.”

Hongjoong exhaled a quiet laugh. “That’s because it is.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

This wasn’t just music to him. It wasn’t just a hobby. It was something deeper—something he didn’t show to just anyone.

Your eyes flickered to his hands, the way his fingers traced over the laptop’s trackpad. He had artist’s hands—quick, precise, confident. Without thinking, you reached out, letting your fingertips ghost over the back of his hand.

Hongjoong stilled.

The air in the room shifted.

His eyes flickered up to yours, something dark and unreadable swirling behind them. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t move either.

“You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?” you murmured.

His lips parted slightly. His gaze dipped—to your lips, just for a second—before flickering back up.

“Not scared,” he said. “Just… aware.”

Your fingers were still touching his. Not a full hold, just the faintest brush of contact. But it was enough. Enough to send a pulse of heat through your veins, enough to make the space between you feel smaller than it was.

Something had shifted.

Something had changed.

You weren’t sure who moved first—him or you—but the next thing you knew, you were leaning closer, your breaths mingling in the space between you. The tension was thick, electric, alive.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong pulled back.

The loss of warmth was immediate.

You blinked, slightly dazed. “Hongjoong—”

“You should go,” he murmured, voice quieter now.

He wasn’t pushing you away out of anger.

He was pushing you away because he was scared of something.

You could see it in his eyes—the hesitation, the restraint. Like he had already let you get too close.

Like he knew that if he let you stay, something would happen that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Why do you do that?”

His gaze flickered to yours. “Do what?”

“Push people away when they start to care.”

His jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to answer—but he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and turned back to his laptop.

“You should go,” he repeated, softer this time.

You hesitated.

Then, slowly, you rose from your seat.

But before you left, you leaned in—just enough for him to hear you—and whispered:

“You can keep pushing, Hongjoong. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you walked out.

The moment you stepped out of the classroom that night, you knew this wasn’t over.

Hongjoong could push you away all he wanted, but something had shifted between you two. The tension, the glances, the way his fingers had lingered against yours—it was all leading somewhere.

And you weren’t going to be the one to turn away first.

---

The next week was different.

Hongjoong still played his role perfectly—the student council president, the model student, the untouchable leader. But you noticed things now.

The way his eyes subtly searched for you in the cafeteria. The way he tensed whenever you walked into a room, like he was hyper-aware of your presence. The way he hesitated before speaking whenever you were near.

He was unraveling.

And you wanted to see just how far he’d let himself go.

---

Friday night.

You didn’t even hesitate this time.

When you walked into the abandoned classroom, you found Hongjoong exactly where you expected him—but he wasn’t alone.

A small group of students was gathered around him, headphones slung around their necks, deep in conversation about something on his laptop. The energy in the room was different from before—louder, more alive.

You hovered near the door, watching.

Hongjoong was in his element. His hands moved as he spoke, his voice animated as he explained something on the screen. His sleeves were pushed up, his tie once again missing.

This version of him—the one who was passionate, focused, completely unguarded—was dangerously attractive.

And then he saw you.

His voice faltered for just a second. His hands stilled. The others didn’t seem to notice, but you did.

You smirked. Gotcha.

“Yo, we should probably bounce before curfew,” one of the students said, stretching. “You coming, Hongjoong?”

He hesitated. His eyes flickered to you for the briefest second.

Then, he shook his head. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

Interesting.

The others packed up and left, their laughter fading down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, watching you. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You shrugged, stepping closer. “Nope.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You should.”

“Should I?” You tilted your head, your voice quieter now. Daring.

His eyes darkened slightly. He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pressed a button on his laptop, and the music started playing.

Not the kind of polished, rehearsed music the school expected of him.

This was different.

It was slower, deeper—seductive.

A heavy beat thumped through the speakers, vibrating through your skin. The bass was thick, pulsing like a heartbeat. The melody slithered through the air, wrapping around you, pulling you in.

Hongjoong watched you, his fingers tapping against the desk in rhythm with the beat.

You took a step closer. Then another.

And then you did something bold.

You reached out and tugged his headphones off his neck.

He froze.

Your fingers brushed against the skin just below his jaw, and you felt him tense.

The air between you shifted.

The music pounded, drowning out the silence.

Hongjoong’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his breath unsteady. His eyes flickered from your hand to your lips—just for a second—before he exhaled sharply and turned away.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Or what?”

His jaw tightened. He stood up so suddenly that your heart jumped.

And then he was right in front of you.

Closer than he had ever been.

His scent—clean, musky, with the faintest trace of cologne—wrapped around you, and your breath hitched.

“Or you might not like what happens next,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, promising.

Your heart pounded.

Your fingers were still wrapped around the headphones, your knuckles barely brushing his chest.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you backed away.

And then—he did it.

He broke first.

One of his hands lifted, his fingers grazing the side of your face—slow, deliberate.

You inhaled sharply, your lips parting slightly at the unexpected touch. His fingertips were warm against your skin, his touch feather-light, almost hesitant.

But his eyes?

There was nothing hesitant about them.

They were dark. Intense. Focused entirely on you.

“I should stop,” he murmured.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his fingers traced down, barely skimming along your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Your pulse roared.

“You should,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

The music thrummed through the air, each beat thick with something unnamed, something dangerous.

Then—his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

A barely-there touch. A test. A warning.

Your breath hitched.

His gaze flickered to your lips again.

For a second, you thought he was going to do it.

You thought he was going to close the distance, finally let this fire consume you both.

But then—

A loud knock on the classroom door shattered the moment.

Hongjoong pulled back so fast it was like he had been burned.

The spell broke.

Your chest was heaving.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The knock came again, sharper this time.

Hongjoong exhaled harshly, his jaw tight. “It’s locked,” he called out, his voice slightly hoarse. “Give me a second.”

Your heart was still racing.

Your skin still buzzed where he had touched you.

You met his gaze one last time—a silent conversation neither of you dared to finish.

Then, before he could stop you, you turned on your heel and walked out.

Leaving him breathless in the dim light of the music room, staring after you like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The tension was unbearable.

For days after that night, neither of you spoke about what had happened.

Not about the music. Not about the way his fingers had traced your jaw. Not about the way he had looked at you—like he wanted to do something reckless, something irreversible.

But silence didn’t mean nothing had changed.

Because it had.

It was in the way he watched you now—like he couldn’t help himself. It was in the way his breath hitched when you brushed past him in the hallways, in the way his fingers lingered just a second too long whenever he handed you something.

It was in the way he didn’t push you away anymore.

---

Friday night.

You weren’t sure if he would be there.

But the moment you stepped into the classroom, you found him—waiting.

Hongjoong was sitting at the desk, head bowed, fingers tapping idly against his laptop. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie discarded, his top buttons undone just enough to make your throat go dry.

The tension in the room was instant.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His fingers stilled.

Slowly, he looked up.

And that was when you knew—tonight would be different.

---

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sound in the room was the hum of his laptop, the quiet static of the speakers.

Then—

“You keep coming back,” he murmured.

You leaned against the desk beside him. “And you keep letting me.”

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists on his lap.

There it was again.

That barely contained tension. That dangerous edge of restraint.

Your heart pounded.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice low. “This isn’t a good idea.”

You tilted your head. “Then why haven’t you told me to leave?”

His breath stilled.

He had no answer.

Because he didn’t want you to.

Something shifted.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

All you knew was that one second, there was distance—and then there wasn’t.

One of his hands lifted—hesitant, searching.

Then his fingers ghosted along your wrist, curling just slightly around your skin. A shiver ran through you at the warmth of his touch, at the deliberate slowness of it.

Hongjoong wasn't rushing.

He was savoring.

Like he knew this was the moment before everything changed.

Your breath hitched.

And then, finally—finally—he broke.

In one smooth motion, he pushed off the desk, closing the last bit of space between you.

You barely had time to react.

One hand slid up to cup the side of your face—gentle but firm. The other settled low on your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you against him.

And then—

His lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It was desperate, consuming, weeks of pent-up tension unraveling all at once.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours. He exhaled sharply against your lips, his grip tightening as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt.

Like he was afraid to let go.

The kiss was heat, urgency, unspoken emotions spilling over.

When you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, his other hand still resting on your waist.

Instead, you whispered, “Do it again.”

His eyes met yours—dazed, unreadable.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“Tell me to stop.”

You swallowed, heart racing.

But you didn’t.

And just like that—the fire consumed you both.

"not here.." he Whispers.

He led you to the boy's dormitory wing, a place strictly off-limits to female students. The thrill of the forbidden made your steps quicken, your breath coming in short gasps. He opened the door to his room, ushering you inside.

"Hongjoong, are you sure about this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, closing the door behind you. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't. But we need to be quiet, okay? If the professors find out, I'll lose my whole reputation."

You nodded, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. The danger of it all was intoxicating.

He moved closer, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Thank you," you whispered back, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

He leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a tender exploration that deepened as you both surrendered to the moment. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you parted them, allowing him entrance. His taste was sweet, like the coffee he must have had earlier.

squirm with pleasure. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. "You like that, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you managed to whisper.

He stood up, his hands moving to your jeans. He unbuttoned them, his fingers brushing against your stomach as he pulled them down. He took his time, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed your lacy panties. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down slowly, his gaze locked onto yours.

licked you slowly, his tongue flat against your clit. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckled, the vibration sending shivers through you.

He licked and sucked, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He slipped a finger inside you, curling it to hit your G-spot. You cried out, your hands fisting the sheets. He added another finger, pumping them in and out while his tongue continued to work your clit.

You were close, your body tensing as the pleasure built. He sensed it, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to push you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you.

He crawled back up your body, his cock hard and ready. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured.

He positioned himself at your entrance, looking into your eyes. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

You nodded, your body still trembling from your orgasm. He pushed into you slowly, his cock stretching you as he filled you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

"You okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I'm good. Just...take it slow."

He nodded, his hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he moved in and out of you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to move faster. He obliged, his hips moving in quick, hard thrusts. You moaned with each one, your body eager for more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours. "You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, yes, I do."

He flipped you over, pulling you to your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips. He pounded into you, his cock hitting your G-spot with each thrust. You cried out, your body pushed to the edge once again.

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing as your orgasm washed over you.

He followed soon after, his body tensing as he came inside you. He collapsed onto the bed, pulling you with him, his body spooning yours.

You lay there, your body sated and exhausted, his arms wrapped around you. You listened to the sound of his heartbeat, slowing as he caught his breath.

"That was...incredible," you murmured, your voice soft and content.

But unfortunately this great moment had to come to an end. After hongjoong made sure you where alright and cleaned up you had to leave.

Oh god you feel so phatetic leaving like this but there is no other options, they will check the dorms every evening

The walk back to your dorm was hell.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the distance between you and Hongjoong’s dorm growing with each footfall, yet the warmth of his touch, the taste of his kiss, lingered like an invisible weight pressing on you. Your pulse still throbbed in your ears, your body still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. The world outside seemed so distant, so disconnected from what had just unfolded behind closed doors.

You kept your head down, pretending that nothing had changed, trying to act normal, but you couldn’t escape the new reality that had just been carved into you. What had just happened?

His hands, his mouth, his scent—all of it was still imprinted on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something much bigger than just a fleeting moment. It was dangerous—you both knew that.

But it had felt so right.

---

Once you crossed the threshold into your dorm, you felt the weight of the moment descend on you, that strange blend of guilt and excitement that came with sneaking around, with doing something you weren't supposed to. The door clicked shut softly behind you, but the silence that followed felt deafening. You had just done something you never imagined doing, and now, you were left alone with your thoughts.

Your roommate was already asleep, her light snores filling the otherwise quiet room. You sat down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing to distract you, no escape from the overwhelming thoughts running through your head. You closed your eyes, and there he was again. Hongjoong, his body against yours, his hands, his lips, his voice murmuring your name.

It wasn’t just the physicality of it.

It was the connection. The chemistry. That undeniable pull that made you feel like you were being drawn into his orbit, over and over again.

But now, the silence that stretched between you two was almost suffocating. No texts, no calls, no awkward glances in the hallway. Had he regretted it? Or was this just part of his plan to keep you at arm’s length? You had no way of knowing.

You hated the uncertainty.

---

The Next Day

The day passed like a blur.

Classes felt like a distant memory as your thoughts kept drifting back to him, back to that night. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

You barely looked at him when you saw him between classes. His presence made your heart beat harder, faster, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Every time your eyes met his, you felt that pull again, that fire burning just beneath the surface. But he didn’t approach you, didn’t say a word.

He was avoiding you.

At least, that’s how it felt.

Maybe it was easier for him. Maybe he knew what to do next, while you were left in the haze of the aftermath. What were you supposed to do now?

You hated that you couldn’t read him. You hated how he could make you feel so… so alive, yet leave you completely in the dark about what was really happening between you two.

But the worst part?

The worst part was how much you wanted to see him again.

---

That Night

The campus was quiet, the lights from the hallway casting long shadows across the floor. The hours ticked by slowly. You couldn’t stand the silence, couldn’t stand the thought of him, of that night, lingering in your mind without any resolution. You needed answers.

So, you decided to go to him.

You slipped out of your dorm, careful not to wake anyone, and made your way through the empty halls, heart pounding in your chest. The music room was your destination. You knew it, like a second home, but tonight it felt different. Everything felt different.

You reached the door and found it slightly ajar, the soft sound of something being typed filling the space beyond. Your breath caught as you pushed the door open a little more. There he was—Hongjoong.

His back was to you, and he was sitting at the desk, headphones on, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. His posture was relaxed, but there was something tense in the air.

You stood there for a moment, just watching him. For all the confidence you had before, now, your body felt uncertain. Your nerves were running wild, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to yell at him for ignoring you or pull him toward you again.

But then he turned, his eyes meeting yours, and just like that, everything else faded away.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. The world seemed to stop for a moment as the two of you locked eyes.

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He exhaled sharply, removing his headphones slowly, like he was steeling himself for something. “I haven’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Don’t lie to me, Hongjoong.”

He flinched, his eyes flicking down to his hands for a moment before they came back up to meet yours. The wall he had been hiding behind was crumbling, and you could see the uncertainty in his expression.

He hesitated. “It’s not…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. He took a step toward you, but his voice was quieter this time. “It’s not that simple.”

You took a step closer, not giving him the chance to distance himself. “Then what is it?”

He sighed, his hands resting on the desk behind him, almost like he was holding himself back. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Your stomach churned at his words. What was that supposed to mean? You weren’t the only one confused, but this wasn’t the time for him to retreat again. Not now.

“I don’t know either,” you whispered. “But running away from it won’t make it go away.”

His breath hitched, his gaze locking onto you with such intensity that it almost knocked the air from your lungs. He was standing so close now, his body tense with restraint. “I can’t just ignore it. I can’t just… forget what happened.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. You had been afraid of the same thing. What if this had been a mistake? What if he regretted it? But when his eyes softened slightly, when he took that step closer—you knew it wasn’t.

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. “Then don’t. Don’t forget. Let’s figure this out together.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was holding onto you for dear life. He pulled you closer until you were standing right in front of him. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he spoke.

“Do you even know what you’re asking?” His voice was hoarse, as though the weight of it all was pressing down on him.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his jawline, urging him to look at you. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

His hands slid up your arms, cupping your face gently as he tilted your head up. “You make this harder than it needs to be,” he muttered, but his lips were already on yours before he could finish the thought.

It was slow at first, hesitant—as if both of you were testing the waters once more. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, to turn desperate, as the same need, the same fire from the night before reignited between you.

Hongjoong’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body overwhelming. His lips moved from yours to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I don’t know how to stop this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you replied.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending sparks through your body. Everything about him, everything about this moment felt inevitable—like you had been waiting for it, unknowingly, all along.

And when his lips found yours again, there was no hesitation. No questions. Just the overwhelming need to be close, to be more than just two bodies in a room. To be something real.

---

The night unfolded again, just like it had before—intense, electric, and full of emotions that you hadn’t known you were capable of feeling. But this time, it was different. There was no fear of the unknown anymore. There was only the certainty of the connection between you two. The understanding that this wasn’t a one-time thing.

And as the hours wore on, you found yourself in the same place again—lost in him.

When it ended, both of you were breathless, tangled in each other, yet something had shifted. There were still questions, still doubts, but for the first time in a long time, you were willing to face them.

---

The days that followed that night were a whirlwind of confusion and longing, neither of you knowing exactly how to navigate the space you’d created between yourselves. After that kiss, after everything that happened, the silence was the loudest thing in the room.

You saw him in passing, in the hallways, sometimes in classes, but each time you caught his gaze, it felt like there was something unspoken between you two. You wanted to reach out, to say something, but every time your thoughts started to gather into words, they fell apart in your chest. You were stuck in this space, hovering somewhere between wanting to pull away for the sake of your own sanity—and desperately needing to know what Hongjoong was thinking.

But as each day passed, you couldn’t keep pretending that things were normal.

You needed answers.

You needed to hear it from him. Again.

---

It was another late evening when you decided you couldn’t keep walking around in the fog of uncertainty. Hongjoong’s dorm room door was slightly ajar, and you could hear faint music playing inside—probably a track he was working on. The sight of it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You stood outside for a long moment, your breath catching as you tried to gather the courage to knock. You couldn’t avoid it anymore. No more games. No more pretending like everything was fine. You needed to hear it from him, needed to know whether what had happened between you two was real, or if you’d both just gotten caught up in the moment.

With a deep breath, you knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Hongjoong, looking slightly startled to see you standing there. His hair was disheveled, his eyes still holding the remnants of the exhaustion that came from hours of working. But when he saw you, his expression softened.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice low and tentative.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. “We need to talk,” you said, and it felt like every word you spoke was dripping with the weight of everything that had happened between you two.

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him toward his desk, but he stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. You did, your eyes scanning the room quickly, but all you could focus on was him.

You stood in front of him, the silence stretching between you two. The tension felt thicker than ever. Finally, Hongjoong spoke, breaking the quiet. “What’s going on? What do you want to talk about?”

You didn’t want to dance around it anymore. You couldn’t.

“I want to know what we’re doing here, Hongjoong,” you said, your voice shaking slightly, but the words were out before you could second guess them. “After everything... after last night—why are we pretending like nothing happened? Why are you using me?”

His face softened, but you could see the inner conflict in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It’s not that I’m using you... I just—I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know what to do with how I feel. It’s not that simple, you know?”

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. “I get that. I’m confused, too. But I can’t keep pretending that nothing’s different. That night meant something. I don’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t just some random moment.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened even more, and he took a deep breath. “It wasn’t just some random moment for me either,” he confessed, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ve been trying to figure it out—what this is between us. But I guess I was scared. Scared that if I admitted how I feel, things would get messed up... But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. For the first time, there were no walls between you. No ambiguity, no confusion—just raw honesty.

“Hongjoong…” You felt a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. “I don’t want to pretend either.”

His eyes softened as he stepped closer to you, his hand reaching up to gently touch your cheek. “So, you feel the same way?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer.

You nodded, feeling your heart race as you looked up at him. “Yeah. I feel the same way.”

A sigh of relief escaped Hongjoong, and before you knew it, he was leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, tender kiss. This time, it wasn’t filled with the frenzy of desire—it was filled with something softer, something more intimate, as if you were both acknowledging that you had just crossed a threshold.

When he pulled back, he didn’t let go of you. His forehead rested against yours, and there was a gentle smile on his lips. “So... you’re saying this is real? That we’re doing this?”

You laughed softly, the sound a mix of relief and joy. “Yeah, I think we are.”

---

EPILOGE

From that moment on, the change between you two was undeniable. The space you’d once kept between each other had melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable closeness. Hongjoong wasn’t avoiding you anymore. In fact, he was more present than ever, his attention focused on you every chance he got.

It wasn’t all perfect—nothing ever is. But now that you knew where you both stood, it was easier to navigate the growing feelings between you two. There was no more guessing. There was no more distance. You were together, and the unspoken weight had been lifted.

You spent more time in his dorm after classes, enjoying the quiet moments where you could simply be with each other, no pretenses, no expectations. And every time he touched you, kissed you, or simply smiled at you, your heart swelled with something you couldn’t quite name—but you knew it was something that felt right.

No more doubts. No more hiding. You were both committed to whatever came next.

The First Date

A week later, Hongjoong invited you to a small cafe downtown, away from the prying eyes of the campus. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect. Just the two of you, sipping coffee, talking about everything and nothing, laughing freely without the weight of fear or uncertainty hanging over you.

There, in that cozy corner, he reached for your hand across the table, his fingers brushing yours with a softness that made your heart skip.

“This is nice,” Hongjoong said, his voice full of contentment as he looked at you, his eyes filled with affection. “I don’t want to rush anything, but I want to make this work. With you.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “I want that, too.”

And in that moment, you both knew that this—this was just the beginning.

_____________________

Taglist: @oceanside-view97 @hwa-stars @hoe4yunho @hohongjoong

[spitdrunken]

reinhard van astrea x isekai!reader

notes: obsessive behaviour/yandere, dependency @yandere-romanticaa - im the anon who sent in an ask! hope you like it <3

Domesticity is something Reinhard has never even had a taste of in his own life. His own family had fallen apart because of him all too quickly, and the little piece of happiness he can remember from his youngest days quickly became lost. After that, there had been little calm in his life, little except for training. His minimal needs taken care of by nameless servants who all looked upon him with awe, apprehension and outright fear.

Reinhard never quite managed to feel part of the human race since. He may be loved by the world, but its people would fear him. None of this ever stopped Reinhard from helping others and being the hero he is supposed to be. Though, at times, he wonders what his life might otherwise been like. In other words, like so many, he is subconsciously drawn to what he cannot have. When Reinhard falls someone, it’s most likely for someone living a relatively normal life. An unknown factor.

To Reinhard, it would be even better to meet someone who has no idea who that is. That is a tough thing to ask for, however. His face is known far and wide across Lugunica and his reputation as Sword Master stretches even beyond. It would be near impossible to meet someone whose perception of him wouldn’t be tainted by his ‘monstrous’ power.

Cue you. You have no idea what’s going on. One moment, you’d been going about your day, the next you’ve been transported into this unfamiliar and foreign world, to bustling streets full of species you don’t recognise and speaking a language you cannot understand. After crossing off ‘this is all just a dream’ from the list of possibilities, you’re faced with a frightening new reality.

You’re not taking this very well. It’s not long before you’re sitting somewhere on the cobbled ground, back against a wall and practically hyperventilating. Of course, you’re familiar with this kind of trope of fiction. You just can’t fathom how anyone could be excited about being ripped away from everything and anyone they’ve ever known. Nor have you ever fashioned yourself to be ‘main character’ material.

It’s Reinhard who finds you in a little alleyway, a little ways off from one of the main roads in Lugunica, mumbling to yourself and shaking. Most people would’ve passed by with little more than a glance, if they had even noticed you at all. That is simply the nature of large cities. But he is not the type of person to see someone in such clear distress and walk past without a second thought.

Reinhard approaches you without any hesitation. He tries to be as conspicuous as possible, adjusting his belt so his sword bumps against his side and putting down his feet a little harder than necessary, all to avoid scaring you. (Stealth is a passive Divine Protection of his. It takes him more effort to be noticed than not.) When you glance up, tear tracks clear on your cheeks and eyes wide with distress, Reinhard greets you with the most gentle smile he can muster. He kneels down in front of you, reaching out a hand with a handkerchief in it as if approaching a frightened animal. It’s a thick, soft cloth, embroidered with both his family’s colours and banner. “Please, take it,” he tells you. His smile falters a tad when, instead of breathing as fast as you were before, you seem to have stopped breathing whatsoever. But then you let out a stuttering, long exhale, shoulders slumping and mumble out a string of incomprehensible words. You wipe down your face and hide within the fabric. Out of respect, Reinhard gives you some time before prodding you with questions, looking away instead of staring. Though there are certainly things that grabbed his attention. Your way of dress, more than anything else. It’s not a type or style of clothing he recognises and, as a result, he can only assume that you’re a foreigner. Traveled here from further than the Four Great Nations, maybe. And gotten lost as a result. Reinhard doesn’t mind waiting for you to calm down. Though there might be trouble brewing somewhere else in the city, he’s certain that the rest of the guard can handle themselves for the time being. He’s not even on the job, after all. It’s important to stay in contact with the people he’s actually protecting, lest they become more of an idea or an image in his mind. He returns his focus to you once you’ve calmed down. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” This time, you look at him with no comprehension, then respond with something in your own tongue. Reinhard continues to try and communicate with you, all of the different languages he’s learned bits and pieces of out of politeness, yet none of it rings a bell for you. It’s difficult, frankly, and he’s running out of ideas. You seem to be growing closer to tears again by every second that passes. Perhaps it would be best to try and focus on something easier… A little distraction. He points at himself. “Reinhard van Astrea.” Any moment now, it must happen. There’ll be a flicker of recognition at his name, his appearance, the sword of his hip— And any hint of unguardedness will be erased and replaced by that look he is all too familiar with. That doesn’t happen. Instead, you smile. It’s wobbly and small, but it’s a smile nonetheless. You point at him. “Reinhard van Astrea,” you repeat after him. The vowels aren’t all quite correct, but that’s not an issue. He nods, smiling. Then, you point at yourself and share your own name, which he then repeats. Maybe it’s something to do with his pronunciation, or simply the relief of having fostered understanding with someone else in this city, but that’s the first time that Reinhard hears you laugh, loud and without reservation. It is that very moment that time seems to freeze, that it flits through his head that he cannot let something this precious go.

From the outside looking in though, it doesn’t seem to you that anything momentous has happened. You’ve started to doubt your ‘main character’ status, though. The man that is busying himself to make you at ease looks like he’s appeared straight out of an otome game with unnaturally bright hair and eyes to boot. He’s gorgeous to the point that it’s almost unnatural. That it’s reminiscent of a piece of art in a museum. The idea that he’s way, way out of your league is an immediate, unquestioned assumption.

Reinhard accompanies you throughout town, never straying far from your side. After mulling a little bit over a ways to communicate with you, he asks a shopkeeper for some paper and a pen, making little sketches to attempt to clarify things. He draws a rough approximation of a house and a questioning tilt of his head. Then, some coins, then stick figures of people. You have to shake your head at all of the unspoken questions. No, you have no home, no money, and no people to return to. By the end of it, your face runs hot with shame and you think you might start to cry all over again.

It’s Reinhard who, in the end, assures that you have a roof over your head and money to spend. You have no idea how to make it up to him. Not the mention, you don’t even have the words to express your gratitude. It’s a little one-room apartment that he’s bought for you in a quieter neighbourhood of the capital and your first self-imposed goal is to pay him back. The most people such as yourself can do around town is menial labour: lugging goods around, cleaning as a maid or anything of the sort. It’s either this, or do nothing inside of your room all day. You prefer the work, even if it’s exhausting.

Reinhard really only accepts the money you present him with to stop you from feeling worse about the situation. As soon as he figured out what you were doing, he’d taken you to a more reputable home in the city as soon as he got, acting as your ‘translator’ when you asked why. Of course, with him vouching for you, there was no question about the job or your higher salary.

He’s away for long stretches of time, but when he’s around he’s teaching you bits and pieces of the language. Reinhard isn’t the best at teaching though he tries his best. You pick up most of the language through listening to others speak, to struggling your way through novels after he taught you the script. All he asks for in return is for you to teach him a little of your own language to even better communicate with you. (You try not to think to hard about how it’s a language that, in this world, will die with you.)

Around you, he recalls what he was like as a young child. Shy, almost, at times struggling to figure out what to say. It’s an entirely unfamiliar feeling. Reinhard does feel a bit bad about keeping you in the dark. He purposefully doesn’t teach you some of the words people refer to him with. He doesn’t want you to change the way you look at him.

The same goes for his courting attempts. Any attempt at romance from him seems to fly over your head. (As previously stated, you consider him so far out of your league that it simply doesn’t cross your mind as a possibility.) Reinhard can accept that. For now, at least, and as long as you do not take another.

He values the little pretend life you’ve built together, even though it’s built on an unsteady foundation. Reinhard starts to yearn for the next time he can spend moments by your side, that he can go ‘home’ and see your face light up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to you. Because of that, he must ensure he stays close, though he cannot avoid being sent away more often than he’d like. Selfishly, he continues to pay for your things even as you gain the means to look after yourself. It makes him feel better about it all.

If Reinhard is a force of nature, then you are caught in the eye of the storm. There’s little he needs to do about things such as romantic rivals or possible dangers to your life. Reinhard van Astrea’s shadow looms over you through your close association alone, even if you aren’t aware of it, and shapes the way people carry themselves around you. In the case there were those who overstepped, a request from Reinhard would be enough to get them to back off.

He doesn’t want you to be unhappy, he truly doesn’t. But when you complain that you cannot seem to make real friends with anyone, that there’s always this kind of… Distance and discomfort you can’t explain, he’s a little happy that he’s there to fill that gap. Once he has the courage, he’ll tell you how he feels. Your response will dictate whether you stay stable, or get swept out in the currents.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

NAUSICA I LOVE SO FREAKING MUCH YOUR WORK

i have a idea for a smutty fanfic with james hetfield 🥳

idk if someone already asked you this but anyways.

I just had the idea of ​​a fanfic of James who is married to reader and they have Cali (James's first daughter) newborn and reader's mother spends almost every day at her house with her granddaughter and those things, and because of those things they have not been able to have sex for months. But one night when his daughter and reader's mother are sleeping they have sex. It may sound strange but since James hasn't fucked for months, he goes a little hard, rough and very vocal with reader and makes everyone else wake up?

thank you so much!

Thank you so much for loving my stories. I'm so sorry if I'm posting this now. I hope you like it!❤

Warnings: mauture themes, sexual themes, strong language

_________________________

Interrupted desire

The house was finally silent. After months of exhaustion, between taking care of our newborn daughter, Cali, and my mother practically moving in to "help," James and I hadn't had a moment alone. Every night, we were either too tired or interrupted, and with my mother always around, privacy was nonexistent. Intimacy had become a distant memory.

But tonight? Tonight was different.

Cali was fast asleep in her bassinet, her tiny breaths even and peaceful. My mother had passed out in the guest room after an entire day of fussing over her granddaughter. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no interruptions. No baby cries, no unannounced visits—just me, James, and a tension that had been simmering for months.

I barely had time to process it when James's hands were on me, his lips finding mine in a desperate kiss. His touch was rough, needy, and I felt my stomach tighten with anticipation. Months. It had been months since we had touched each other like this, and judging by the way James was gripping me, I wasn’t the only one feeling the ache of longing.

"Fuck, Y/N... you have no idea how much I've missed this," he growled against my skin, his voice thick with need. His hands slid under my shirt, rough fingers dancing over my skin, making me shiver.

I gasped as he lifted me effortlessly, pressing me against the mattress with a hunger that made my body burn. He wasn't holding back tonight. There was no slow build-up, no gentle teasing. Just raw, unfiltered need.

"James—" I barely got his name out before he was on me, his mouth trailing down my neck, teeth grazing my skin as he bit down, sucking marks onto my flesh. His body pressed against mine in a way that made me dizzy. The bed creaked beneath us as he moved, his groans mixing with my gasps.

He was rough. Desperate. Months of frustration poured into every movement. His hands gripped my hips tightly, keeping me right where he wanted me. He flipped me onto my stomach, his fingers pressing bruises into my skin as he yanked my hips back against him.

"You're mine, Y/N. Fuck, I’ve needed you so bad," he rasped, voice raw and wrecked.

The way he was panting, groaning, muttering curses under his breath—he wasn’t holding back, and neither was I. My fingers clawed at the sheets, trying to muffle my own moans, but it was impossible. The headboard hit the wall with a rhythmic thud, and the bedframe creaked louder than I remembered.

Too loud.

James didn’t seem to care. If anything, it only fueled him. His grip on my waist tightened, his thrusts growing even more relentless. He tangled a hand in my hair, tugging my head back as his teeth scraped against my shoulder. "Take it, baby. Fuck, you feel so good."

And then—

"What the hell?!"

The voice sliced through the air like a bucket of ice water.

James froze. My heart nearly stopped.

We turned in sync toward the door, where my mother stood, wide-eyed and horrified. In the crib, Cali stirred, letting out a tiny, confused wail.

James let out a long, frustrated groan and buried his face in the crook of my neck. "God damn it."

Heat flooded my face as I scrambled to grab the covers, my mind racing for an explanation—any explanation—but what could I even say?

Before I could come up with anything, my mother sighed dramatically. "For god's sake, at least have the decency to put a pillow behind the damn headboard next time!"

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and marched down the hall, muttering under her breath about "young people and their hormones."

As soon as she disappeared, silence hung in the air for a long moment before James let out a breathy chuckle. "Oops."

I swatted at his chest, laughing despite myself. "Oops?! That’s all you have to say?"

James smirked, nuzzling into my neck. "What else can I say? Next time, I’ll try to keep it quieter."

James collapsed on top of me, breathless and defeated. "We finally get a moment and this happens."

I let out a helpless laugh, still reeling. "Well... at least now she knows we’re still married."

He groaned again, rolling off me, arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me close. "We’re trying this again tomorrow. No interruptions."

"If we survive the embarrassment," I teased.

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was, I couldn’t wait for next time.

And honestly? It really was worth it.

[sunwoniie]

REVENGE

Pairing: idol!virgin!soft dom!Jay x idol!virgin!brat!Isabella

Synopsis: Lately, Isabella has been ignoring Jay, which is pretty weird considering she usually loves messing with him until he’s absolutely furious. At first, he’s just confused, but when he finally figures out why she’s avoiding him, he realizes it’s the perfect chance to get back at her. And he’s not about to let it go to waste.

Warnings: virgin jay and isa, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (pulling out before coming), bathroom sex

Old scenario

English is not my first language

Lately, I’ve been getting familiar with cold showers. They’re known for their health benefits, but that’s not why I take them. Cold showers are also used to calm people down—especially when their urges become overwhelming. Like me. Right now.

I’m ovulating, and it’s driving me insane. The need is so intense that I might actually call an escort just to get some relief.

My ovulation periods have always been wild, but things got worse when I practically started living with a bunch of ridiculously attractive guys. And yet, despite being surrounded by them, my fixation is on Jay. When that started, I have no idea.

Jay and I have always had this bickering dynamic. I don’t hate him—if anything, I love to annoy him. Seeing that irritated expression on his face is pure entertainment. Pranking him is my specialty, and nothing amuses me more than watching him turn red with frustration when he realizes it was me. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and the moment he spots me, he yells my name before chasing me down.

Running while laughing? Impossible. He always catches me, pinning me down against whatever is closest—the floor, the wall—before tickling me until I can’t breathe.

It’s fun.

But not when I’m ovulating.

When he pins me down, holding my wrists above my head with one hand while tickling me with the other, my thoughts spiral into something else entirely. Something not-so-innocent.

That’s why, from the moment my ovulation started, I began avoiding him. No teasing, no pranks. I knew exactly where it would lead, and I didn’t trust myself to handle the consequences.

It’s late at night, and the boys are having a sleepover in our apartment. I can’t sleep—not with these thoughts clouding my mind—so I decide to take a cold shower, hoping it will help.

I step out of the tub, wrapping my bathrobe around me before opening the bathroom door—only to freeze.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips before I slap a hand over my mouth, as if that could undo what just happened.

Jay is standing right in front of me, his messy hair and relaxed posture making it clear he just got up. His hands are buried in the pockets of those gray joggers I hate—because he looks so damn good in them, and I would never admit it—but also love, because they fuel my fantasies about something I’ve never seen.

“Y-you scared me,” I stammer, lowering my gaze to the floor, unable to handle the intensity of his stare. The normal me would be mortified at how easily he’s intimidating me right now.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t let me pass.

I shift to the side, hoping he’ll take the hint and enter the bathroom so I can leave, but he remains planted in place.

“Jay… are you okay?” I whisper, mindful of the others sleeping in the living room.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” he finally speaks, his voice low.

I swallow. “W-what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?”

His words make me tense. “Jay, can we talk about this later? The others are sleeping.” I try to keep my voice quiet.

He moves at last, but not the way I want. He steps toward me. Instinctively, I step back.

My breath hitches when he enters the bathroom, swiftly turning around to shut the door behind him.

“Jay—w-what are you doing?” My voice trembles, my pulse racing at the thought of being alone with him in a closed space while I’m barely dressed.

“You’re not leaving until you tell me what I did wrong,” he says, arms crossing over his chest.

I exhale sharply, playing with my fingers, eyes glued to the floor. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Jay steps closer.

“Stop,” I blurt, taking another step back. “D-don’t come near me. Please.”

His eyes search mine. “Why?”

I sigh, my shoulders dropping. It’s too awkward to tell him the truth. That I’ve been fantasizing about him. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance.

“I’ve been… feeling weird lately,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “Especially around you.”

Jay watches me carefully. “What do you mean?”

I force myself to meet his gaze, inhaling deeply before confessing, “I’m ovulating.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I shut my eyes, hating how vulnerable I feel.

Silence.

I peek through my lashes to find him smirking. His lips curl into that maddeningly smug grin, his expression laced with amusement.

“Are you masturbating to the thought of me?”

My breath catches. My whole body stiffens.

Jay steps forward, closing the distance between us inch by inch.

“Jay…” My voice is shaky, betraying my rising panic—and something else I refuse to name.

His gaze darkens with mischief. “Are you having nasty thoughts about me?”

I keep retreating until my back meets the sink. There’s nowhere left to go.

“Jay,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out. “D-don’t come any closer.” My hands lift instinctively, a feeble attempt to stop him.

His smirk only deepens. “Why?” His voice drops to a husky murmur. “I can help you. But you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

I stop breathing altogether.

“Jay.”

“Yes, Isabella?”

The way he says my name—slow, deliberate, seductive—sends a shiver down my spine.

He never calls me by my full name. Never.

It’s always Isa like the rest of the group. Or Bella, when he’s feeling playful.

But Isabella?

That’s new.

And it’s dangerous.

I feel wetness slowly dripping between my thighs as I instinctively press them together. My breathing is uneven, and before I even realize it, Jay has already closed the remaining distance between us.

His hands gently cradle my face, tilting it upward so our eyes meet. “Aw, look at you… so red,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “It must be really hard, huh?” His smirk deepens, clearly satisfied with the effect he has on me. Now, it’s his turn to tease, to watch me squirm.

Annoyed, I slap his hand away. “S-stop playing with me,” I stammer, turning my head to avoid his gaze.

“Who said I was playing?” he counters, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him again.

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with control. “Tell me… how can I help you?” His lips hover just inches from mine, and I know he’s enjoying every second of my struggle. He knows exactly what I want—he just wants to hear me beg for it.

“I-I need you,” I breathe, leaning in, desperate to close the distance between us. But he pulls back at the last second, his smirk widening. He loves this. Loves watching me writhe, loves making me desperate.

“What do you need me to do, Bella?” His voice is a taunt, a challenge.

I let out a shaky sigh, surrendering to the inevitable. “I need you to fuck me… please.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all he was waiting for.

His smirk turns predatory. “Took you long enough to say it,” he murmurs before crashing his lips against mine.

The kiss is messy, desperate—our first, but I don’t care. His hand slides down my back, pulling me against him as we devour each other, tongues tangling, teeth grazing. My hands grip the sink behind me, my knees weak, barely holding me up.

I’m already addicted—to the taste of him, to the way his lips move against mine, to the heat radiating from his body.

He pulls away, leaving us both breathless, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth moves to my neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, sucking, teasing. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and in embarrassment, I slap a hand over my mouth.

Jay halts immediately, his darkened gaze locking onto mine. He reaches up, prying my hand away. “Don’t hide those pretty little noises from me,” he murmurs.

His fingers move to the knot of my bathrobe, untying it with excruciating slowness before sliding the fabric off my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me bare before him.

His eyes finally break away from mine, traveling down my body. I watch as his pupils dilate, his jaw tightening. His gaze is hungry, devouring every inch of my exposed skin—from my round breasts and hardened nipples to my wide hips and thick thighs.

I shiver as his fingertips ghost over my stomach, tracing a slow path upward until he cups one of my breasts. A soft groan escapes me at the sensation, and he watches, fascinated, as my chest rises and falls under his touch.

His thumb brushes over my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. My thighs press together instinctively, desperate for friction.

“W-why are you acting like that? Haven’t you ever seen a—ahh—a woman’s body before?” My voice is shaky, my breaths uneven.

He smirks, his hands kneading my breasts, applying just the right amount of pressure. “No, I haven’t.” His voice is calm, but there’s something darker beneath it.

I let out a breathy chuckle. “Y-yeah, I… ahh… I kinda figured.”

His head tilts slightly, amused. “Oh?”

“You’re always so irritated,” I manage between gasps, my body arching into his touch. “I just assumed it’s ‘cause you’re a virgin… and you just needed to get fucked.”

He chuckles at my state—flustered, desperate, unraveling under his touch. But instead of responding, he pinches my nipples, drawing a strangled moan from my lips.

“I find it funny how you’re still being a brat,” he muses, “when I’m here to help you.”

Then, without warning, he leans down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp leaves me as he sucks, his tongue flicking, teasing, driving me insane.

I’m losing myself in the pleasure, my body greedy for more. “You can play with my body another time,” I pant, barely able to form words. “Just hurry up and get this done before someone wakes up.”

Jay pulls back slightly, licking his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So… you’re planning on doing this again?”

Realizing what I’ve implied, I quickly look away. “Shut up and hurry up.”

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich, before I feel his hands leave my breasts. When I glance down, my stomach tightens—he’s sinking to his knees, eyes never leaving mine.

A thrill of anticipation runs through me as he lifts one of my legs, placing it over his shoulder. My heart pounds when I realize how close his mouth is to my dripping heat.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” I stammer. “Just go straight to—ahh!”

My sentence is cut short as his tongue flicks over my clit, a low groan vibrating against me. The sensation sends a shockwave through my body, making me moan.

What starts as soft, teasing licks quickly turns into a full-blown assault on my pussy. His tongue moves with precision, alternating between slow, sensual strokes and intense, desperate sucking.

“Jay~ ah! Jay~ ngh! Please!” I can’t control the words spilling from my lips, my head thrown back as pleasure overtakes me.

His grip tightens on my thigh as his tongue dips lower, teasing my entrance before sliding inside. His fingers replace his tongue on my clit, rubbing circles that have my legs trembling.

A wave of pleasure crashes over me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My fingers tangle in his hair, my hips moving against his mouth, desperate for more. “Fuck, it’s so good!”

Then, without warning, he slides two fingers inside me.

I cry out, the sudden intrusion sending a jolt of sharp pleasure through my core. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust—his fingers pump into me, curling, stretching, filling.

I’m overwhelmed, completely at his mercy, my walls fluttering around his digits. The coil in my stomach tightens, my breaths turning ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant mindlessly, gripping his hair harder as my body starts to tremble. The pressure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable force surging through me.

“Jay—ahh! I’m—I’m gonna—ngh!”

My orgasm crashes over me, violent and all-consuming. My body jerks, pleasure detonating in my veins as I come undone around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he continues—licking, sucking, fucking me through the aftershocks. My body twitches, my nerves overstimulated.

“Ja—Jay, stop, stop! I can’t take it anymore!” My voice is high, desperate, as I try to push his head away.

But he just smirks against me, completely ignoring my pleas.

Because Jay doesn’t give a fuck if we get caught.

Eventually, I stop feeling any movement inside me—the friction of his fingers, the warmth of his tongue on my clit. He withdraws his hand, and I hear the slick sound of him licking his fingers. My head is tilted back as I try to regain my senses, so I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can picture it in my mind. The thought alone sends a shiver through me.

Slowly, he stands, taking his time to admire my body. When I lift my head, I find his eyes locked onto mine.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I ask, struggling to believe he’s really a virgin after what he just did.

"YouTube tutorial," he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pulling down his joggers.

I watch, my gaze trailing down to where his erection strains against his boxers.

"Yeah, right," I scoff, rolling my eyes at his broken humor.

"I'm just naturally good at this," he says, his dark eyes never leaving mine as he slides his boxers down, revealing his thick, veiny length. My breath catches. How is that supposed to fit inside me?

"Wait, we don’t have condoms," I say, snapping back to reality as he steps closer, his bare chest now fully exposed. He’s fit—lean, toned, perfect.

"I’ll pull out before I cum," he assures me, positioning himself between my legs.

His gaze flickers down to my chest, rising and falling with my heavy breathing, before meeting my eyes again. He can tell I’m nervous. But I’m not scared—at least, not in the way he thinks. I’m more excited than anything, overwhelmed by the anticipation of something so unfamiliar.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asks, his voice softer now.

I swallow hard. "Yes. Keep going."

But he still doesn’t seem convinced, so I lean forward, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. When I pull away, I whisper again, more confidently this time, "Keep going."

"Alright, but this time, try not to be too loud—"

"Hey, you’re—"

Before I can finish, he presses forward, the thick head of his cock stretching me open.

"Ah," I gasp, my body instinctively clenching around him.

It hurts, of course—just like any girl's first time—but the need for him overshadows the pain.

"Does it hurt?" Jay groans, his voice strained as if he’s holding himself back.

"Just a little, but I’m fine. Keep going."

He sinks deeper, my walls fluttering helplessly around him. I bite my lip hard, my gums aching from how tightly I clench my teeth.

A low, guttural moan escapes him. "Can you—ah… can you try not to clench so much?" His eyes remain shut, his brows furrowed as if he's using every ounce of willpower to keep himself together.

"S-Sorry, I-I can’t control it… but I’ll try."

He pushes in further, stretching me open inch by inch. The more he fills me, the harder it is to breathe.

By the time he’s fully inside me, I can feel his cock twitching slightly, making me clench around him even more. His breath is shaky against my ear as he wraps one arm behind my back, pulling me closer while his other hand keeps my leg hooked around his waist.

We stay like this for a moment, giving me time to adjust—or maybe giving him time to focus, to keep from losing control too soon.

I feel his warm breath ghosting over my skin. "Jay… y-you can start moving now," I murmur, my hips rocking unconsciously to create some friction.

Instead of answering, he straightens, his arm still bracing my back as he slowly thrusts forward.

"Ah," I moan, louder than I intended, before quickly covering my mouth.

I try to stay quiet, but it’s impossible. The way he moves—the way he fills me—makes it feel too good. Too good.

"Fuck, you’re clenching so much," he groans, voice tight with restraint.

"Mmnh… fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper under my breath.

Jay suddenly lifts my other leg, leaving me completely at his mercy. The new angle makes him reach deeper, thrusting faster, harder, hitting a spot inside me that makes it absolutely impossible to keep quiet.

"Jay! Jay!" I whimper, feeling an intense, familiar pressure building deep in my core.

"Yes, Bella," he groans, voice raw, his thrusts growing more desperate. His cock twitches inside me.

"Don’t stop—I’m going to cum~" I cry, my walls spasming violently around him.

"Fuck—I-I’m not planning on stopping, Bella," he rasps, pounding into me a few more times before I shatter around him, pleasure crashing over me in waves.

My body shakes from the intensity, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps fucking me through it, chasing his own release.

"J-Jay—too m-much," I whimper, my body twitching from overstimulation.

"I—I know, I’m sorry. I’m about to cu—ah—ah," he groans, pulling out at the last second.

His breath stutters as he strokes himself frantically, his release spilling hot and thick across my stomach. His head drops against my shoulder, both of us struggling to catch our breath.

"Do you still think my dick is small?" he asks after a moment, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face.

"Yes. Very much," I lie, refusing to feed his ego.

He chuckles, lifting his head. "Ngh, so big," he mimics, tilting his head with a playful smirk. "Isn’t that what you said?"

"Shut up," I mumble, smacking his arm lightly, making him laugh.

Suddenly, he hooks his hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly.

"What are you doing?" I yelp.

"We’re taking a shower," he says simply, carrying me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he sets me down gently before turning on the water. The warm spray cascades over us as he grabs a washcloth, squirting body wash onto it before rubbing it across my skin, cleaning away the sweat and the mess he left on my stomach.

His touch is slow, deliberate, almost tender. And as he moves the cloth over me, I can’t help but think—I never expected this from him.

And yet, I never want it to stop.

[kakao-lovey]

ꨄ︎ Single on Valentine's: ideas to inspire some self-love

We all have that person in our class or friend group that is seemingly always in love. It is easy to compare yourself and feel 'Not good enough' for a partner, 'Antisocial' (In this context, Asocial), or that you're 'Going to be alone forever'. I've got news: those people who are constantly in and out of relationships are rarely happy, because they need a romantic partner for validation. They have problems loving themselves, so they need someone else to do it for them. So, whether you're aromantic, newly single or have never even had a proper relationship -- you will NOT spend this Valentine's Day crying. Not on my watch.

-------- ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ --------

ꨄ The importance of self-love, and how to attain it

The only person you can spend your whole life with is YOU. The only person who will always be with you is YOU. If you want to actually be happy in life (As opposed to constantly seeking validation from others to be happy), you need to make amends and grow a healthy relationship with yourself. Now, that's all great and good in theory, but you have likely heard this a million times and still don't know how to actually go about it. You can take real-life steps to begin to love yourself, and all you need to start is ask this question: How would I treat the person I love most in this world?

ꨄ︎ Ideas for your best Valentine's Day yet

Firstly, if you're scared to go into public on your own on the 14th, thinking you'll be judged: do it. Have the audacity. Do what everyone else is too embarrassed to do. Think of it as practicing your confidence, taking steps to have a less insecure mindset.

Writing letters to your past, present and future self: tell nine-year-old you that it's going to be alright. Write to them to say that whatever happened is not their fault. Or tell future you that you're proud of them no matter what, because if they're reading it, they're still standing.

Love language of physical touch: yes, there are ways to speak this language with yourself! A lot of us can relate to the experience of rubbing our feet together like crickets when we're comfy. So get yourself your favourite blanket and curl up in bed with some music.

Affirmations: they work. Write some down in a notebook, decorate the page with stickers, or listen to an affirmation audio from YouTube. If you have the confidence, you can even say them out loud.

Getting yourself gifts: your favourite flowers, a snack you really enjoy, a video game, a skincare product, literally anything. Great thing is, you know yourself better than anyone, so your gifts will almost always be well received.

A self-portrait: get creative. Choose your favourite art medium, whether it be oil pastels, watercolour or even photography. It's a good exercise to appreciate the little details of your body, and how it works together to create a living being.

Speaking of your body, take care of it. It may not instantly make you feel better, but lifestyle choices like diet and exercise make a massive impact on your mental health in the long run. So eat those whole foods, drink your water and do some light exercise like yoga or going on a walk.

-------- ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ --------

No relationship is perfect, and it doesn't have to be! You're allowed to be angry or frustrated with yourself, but a lot of what I've experienced is just needless hatred, and we need to fix that. That's all! Bye, Lovies!

[rottenpumpkin13]

What's AGSZC idea of romance? ❤️

Sephiroth: Poor man's idea of romance is so endearingly mundane it's almost painful to watch. When his person of interest remembers his coffee order, he practically short-circuits. They send him a "good morning" text, he'll analyze it for hours with a small smile he thinks no one notices. He melts when his someone asks if he's eaten today, because apparently basic human concern is the height of romance when you've spent your life as Hojo's science project. Brushing his hair? He's already planning the wedding in his head. The man gets emotional whiplash when his person remembers small details about him, like his secret love for cats or how he actually enjoys sweet things but is embarrassed to admit it. The mighty Sephiroth, brought to his knees by his special person simply asking "are you taking care of yourself?"

Angeal: This man's love language screams domestic bliss so loud it's deafening. His idea of a perfect date is cooking together, trading stories while chopping vegetables. Gets absolutely weak when his partner shows interest in his plant collection or asks about his family recipes. Dreams of Sunday morning farmers' market trips and waking up in bed together. The way to this man's heart is through showing responsibility and stability; pay your bills on time and he'll swoon. Nothing says "I love you" to him like discussing retirement plans or showing genuine interest in his opinions. He's definitely thought about what herbs he'd grow in his future shared garden.

Genesis: A dramatic romantic to the bone. Needs affection like others need air—to both give and receive. His person can expect constant cuddles, random sappy poetry, dramatic declarations of love. Will absolutely spoil his partner rotten with gifts, attention, and affection, but expects the same energy in return. Physical touch is essential; he's always finding excuses to hold hands, fix his person's collar, or simply lean against them while reading. Gets ridiculously happy when they quote poetry back at him. Loves being pampered but equally loves doing the pampering; will run his person a bath complete with rose petals and the most expensive salts available. Probably has a dedicated drawer just for love letters he's written.

Zack: Unconditional love and enthusiasm. His entire concept of romance is "how can I make their life better today?" Will remember the most obscure detail they mentioned once in passing and turn it into a thoughtful gesture months later. Gets excited about doing mundane tasks together—grocery shopping becomes an adventure when he's involved. Would literally run across continents if his person said they missed him. The kind of person who leaves little notes in their lunch box and sends random "thinking of you" texts throughout the day. His idea of romance is being completely, unabashedly devoted. Has definitely injured himself trying to recreate romantic scenes from movies.

Cloud: His idea of romance is sweet, but his actions are so subtle his person might miss them if they're not paying attention. His romance is all about the little things—making sure his person's car is maintained, standing slightly closer to them than necessary, accidentally-on-purpose brushing hands. Gets flustered at direct affection but will fight Bahamut bare-handed if it threatens them. Physical closeness is his secret weakness— melts internally when his person leans against him but tries to play it cool. His love language is practical care wrapped in shy affection. He'll spend hours upgrading his person's equipment but gets tongue-tied trying to say "I love you." Has probably memorized his person's schedule just to make sure they're safe, but will claim it's "just coincidence" that he's always around when they need help.

[noneatnonedotcom]

one more random character.

i'm having a lot of fun with these, this one will be in Avatar the last airbender.

Blade Beyond Steel: (400 cp) Your connection to your blade goes beyond physical skill. You have honed your swordsmanship to such a degree that your weapon becomes an extension of your very soul. No matter the material, you can wield your sword with such finesse that it can cut through objects far stronger than steel—be it reinforced armor, magical barriers, or even energy-based attacks. Your blade can sever through nearly anything, and no defense is safe from the sharpness of your strikes.

Master Swordsman: (200 CP) You possess the incredible skill of a seasoned swordsman. Your reflexes, precision, and technique are at a level that only the most dedicated of swordfighters can reach. Whether you're armed with a katana or any other blade, you can easily slice through enemies with devastating accuracy. With every swing of your sword, you can precisely cut through opponents or deflect incoming attacks, leaving your enemies in awe of your skill. This is the foundation of Atomic Samurai’s incredible swordsmanship.

Steel Trap Clarity: (300 CP) It's a sad fact, but traitors and spies are lurking everywhere. Their hands forced by blackmail, willingly becoming a double agent from bribery or falling to good old fashioned brain washing. Not you though, absolutely not. Upon purchase, you become excessively resistant to traditional forms of corruption, mystical forms of brain washing and everything in between. Something with mind boggling power may still be able to put you under its control. Most of the threats to your morals or sanity in this world are just out of luck. Additionally, you will always be able to keep a clear idea of your personal principles, meaning you won't stray off of your path on accident.

Perfectly Trained: (100 CP) They say someone who loves what they do will never work a day in their life. What you love is training. You love the sweat, the aching, the exhaustion. To that end, you’ve gotten good at seamlessly working your training into daily life, whether it be shadowboxing to kill time or practicing footwork when going out for a walk.

Infernal Governance: (free) You would hardly be a noble if you couldn’t look and act the part. Luckily this is something you have internalized completely, able to project a sense of dignity, grace, and nobility through your body language. And you don't just look like it, you also have experience with politics and governance, to the point that you would be able to walk into near any court in Creation and be accepted, while you would actually be able to be a good ruler. Of course to live the lifestyle of the nobility, you'll need a certain amount of wealth. It is a good thing then, that you're just as skilled in selling whatever you wish, finding the appropriate buyers, and setting up a shop to do so. Lastly this makes you skilled at coming up with convoluted plots to accomplish your goals, which somehow seem to work better than simpler schemes.

free roll: Anti Deception: (200 CP) At the outset of your journey, a significant portion of the Saints have been swayed to align themselves with Mars, lured by convincing falsehoods painting Athena as weak and the Martians as allies in the protection of humanity. Fortunately, you possess the invaluable ability to see through both lies and half-truths, allowing you to discern the deceptive nature of these claims. Furthermore, armed with a keen sense of logic, you meticulously dissect the inconsistencies and illogicalities present in the narrative, presenting compelling arguments to your allies to expose the deception and sway them from serving Mars.

this character is a nobel who is not a bender, instead he's a swordsman who's family has been stubbornly independent in the face of both the firenation and the earth kingdom. you might think it's their skill at arms that has saved the lands but in reality it's their minds, their skills at seeing through deception and half truths and their will to stick to their morals. these things are what makes them truly dangerous that and their skill at governance and strategy. still while the character starts off with the skills to fight, they lack the body nessicary for it. luckily perfectly trained helps to ensure that even if they're forced to play the noble administrator they do improve on their abilities as they go. tldr: really good swordsmen who are extremely politically savvy. ideas I had, 1 arranged marriage with the bei-fong family. leading to him eventually meeting toph and neither one really sure what to do because they were both expecting to hate the other making breaking up the arranged marriage even harder. maybe they don't break it off leading to them joking that their friends are all living in sin. 2 there are some religious buildings with people who look suspiciously like air nomads tending the place but he assures the firenation that it's just people who teach air nomad theology and they're simply priests and priestesses

3 no he has no idea who those pirates raiding both the earth kingdom and Firenation ships were but he hopes they find whatever handsome dashing rouge is doing it.

4 uses a willow leaf saber or liuyedao as his weapon of choice. with something very simular to European saber as his style.

5 those are totally normal bison and not flying sky bison, they use them for their wool and they can't fly. that's rediculous.

while his dad still rules over his lands he ends up traveling with the avatar on his trip up north to learn water bending and just never leaves.

this makes him a target for both earth and fire nation bounty hunters and he has a competition with soka over who can get the higher bounty. soka complains that he's cheating by having the earth kingdom mad at him too.

@howlingday @heliosthegriffin @weatherman667 @thatorigamiguy

any ideas for this character? also i should take advantage of the free powers more often. not all of them are great but a lot of them are OP for being free powers. secondary idea just for Weatherman he's actually the son of a roman senator in the avatar version of rome. they're still actively opposing both earth and fire nation but they're doing so less through pirates and clever lies and more through the unified effort of the roman legions the only majority non bender nation to remain in the face of both the earth kingdom expansion and the newer firenation.

ROMA INVICTA!

[simplemindedmockingjay]

Was I supposed to feel any warm fuzzies when Yotha and his mum had their reconciliation moment?? Cause I sure as shit didn't... I hate the mum more than ever after this scene because it's even more evident to me now that she doesn't care about her relationship with her sons, she just cares about her own comfort.

She's only been so focused on fixing things with Yotha because he's loud and abrasive in his dislike of her, and that makes her life harder because she can't ignore it. But look at the others.

Newton is completely emotionally disconnected and apathetic. He takes the news that his mother is moving roughly 6000 miles away with the same level of emotion you'd give a casual acquaintance, with "well if I'm ever in your neck of the woods we should catch up" energy. And I think this is because he genuinely doesn't care, he hasn't relied on his mum since the divorce and is of the 'no expectations means no disappointments' mentality. The mum is fine with this distance because it's subtle and non-confrontational, which is comfortable for her. Who cares that his coping mechanism is unhealthy, at least it's quiet.

Then we have Faifa... I could, and do, cry when I think too hard about this poor boy. His mum ripped him out of one family unit and then shoved him out of another. And why?? For her own convenience. In her own words, she took him to live with her because he, the child, would experience enough separation anxiety to force her, the adult, to keep in touch with her other kids. Thats a level of emotional abuse that I dont even have the language to try and explain... and then she fully admits that if she'd taken Yotha in the divorce, they'd have never seen her again.

Then, we can only assume, especially after the "your stepfather and siblings ask about you all the time" comment, that he wasn't shoved out of his second family due to unresolvable issues or something like that. It sounds more like, at some point, it became more comfortable for her to keep these two chapters of her life completely separate. This trauma has made Fai such a people pleaser that he's completely unable to process, let alone call out, his mums shitty actions and is instead left feeling like a burden who constantly has to prove his worth. (Don't even get me started on the fact that his mother practically rips his self worth away, admits she didn't want to live with him because she loved him but purely for convenience, drops the bomb that she's abandoning him again, and then he offers her a lift to the airport!! Like he feels the need to prove his worth one last time.) But at least, from the mums perspective, this isn't uncomfortable or overt, so she doesn't see, or chooses not to acknowledge, the obvious hurt he's going through cause its easier for her not to. She gets to keep her comfort through willful ignorance.

So yeah, it's nice Yotha has had a chance to get some closure, but at what cost??

[poisonedspider]

If he had a nose, it would be scrunching up right now, and in a way he was glad that he didn't so his emotions he wore on his sleeve were far less noticeable. Valentino was right, he was assuming a lot, and Angel knew that little streak of not exactly disobeying - but not exactly being willing and pliable on a day about Val - could possibly get him in trouble the next day at the studio if he didn't watch himself.

But Valentino's thought process would be right - no one could blame Angel. It wasn't like he hadn't been around both Overlords many times, but it hadn't been in this capacity. Being vulnerable with Valentino was one thing, and even that was incredibly difficult, but Vox was a complete wildcard. Fortunately Angel was incredibly good at picking up on body language, thanks to all his time interrogating in the mafia.

"It's an eternity colla'." He's smiling at Valentino as he says this, eyes never taken away from him, though clearly talking to Vox as he had caught him staring. "Kinda' like a dom/sub thing. Th' only one who can take it off is our birthday boy right here." Thankfully, no one at the hotel would know that. Well...maybe Niffty...she definitely had that level of freak. But if others knew, that would be...a lot to explain.

His eyes notice the slight trepidation in Vox about being so public, bringing a hand to his upper arm and gently stroking a finger down it. Reassurance in silence. Noticing how challenging it was to accompany them both - sorry Vox, your head is huge sir - Angel used his flexibility to easily slide off Valentino's thigh with one leg without bumping into the Media Demon.

That one leg bent up slightly now so he still remained pressed against the moth, practically still straddling his thigh, just at a diagonal. Just enough so he could curl against Valentino's side, the core of his arousal perfectly against the thick of the femoral region. Just enough that Val would probably notice how warm and damp that area was getting, between the drugs, and now literally watching two Overlords he thought were hot make out.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before - the Overlords weren't exactly subtle when they were in an 'on again' period - but it had obviously never been this close. Which also had him raising an eyebrow, letting out a little laugh. "So that's how yeh' fuckas' kiss." The whole tongue/mouth thing had never made sense to Angie. Humming, he brought a hand down Val's stomach, fingers only barely dipping into the waistband of his pants, simply leaving little touches.

"Babe, maybe if this uh...escalates....we should take it somewhere else." Val would know that it wasn't because of Angel. Angel loved being front and center. He was on everyone's televisions being fucked, public sex was far from embarrassing. He would know that he was being considerate of Vox, and Vox would know he was trying to support him in that flicker of nerves that he had seen.

@mothvalentino

Fucking finally.

It wasn't that Val expected his two lovers to immediately throw themselves at him, they could've chatted a while for all he cared. But now it seems like Angel finally got the message that his skittishness was uncalled for. The pimp would've run out of ways to phrase that the spider is welcome otherwise. Then again, could he really blame him for being overly cautious? No. But fuck, it's his birthday and he didn't sign up to do fucking talk therapy when he came here.

Val slowly raises his head when he feels Angel straddle his thigh, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

ཐིཋྀ "And whatever gave you the idea that I don't want you two to get along, hm? Did I say you couldn't get to know each other?", he murmurs because, despite his satisfaction, that particular comment of Angel still irked him,

"You assume a hell lot tonight, Angel baby. Time to get outta ya fucking head."

It sounds like a veiled threat but Val's hand is gentle as it cups his top star's cheek, sliding down his neck until his thumb rests on the heart-shaped lock of his collar. One of his lower hands snakes around the spider's figure, settling on the small of his back. On his other side, he reaches for Vox's shoulder, rubbing it before long fingers slip around the back of his partner's neck. A nonverbial invitation to come closer.

@hellmxses

[sockich]

Mencken: *doing badly in the polls* Roman: Hello, hello! Look at you! Losing it, like a massive fucking loser. * Roman: *has a sobbing breakdown at his father's funeral* Mencken: Hey, hey, hey. It’s the grim weeper. Tiny tears! * Me: Wow. That's some soulmate shit right there. Meant for each other for real!

[gglinaa]

one day i’d really love to make a comparative analysis (?) of those two tos eps about both jim and spock finding their most sincere happiness in worlds where they don’t remember their responsibilities and past

however rn i’m more concentrated on the way how jim and spock still both fall for blondes and brunettes even without remembering each other clearly

[mmelolabelle]

Does Ares hate Percy Jackson? Yes, very much so. Is Percy also his favourite cousin? Yes.

Ares just wants to fight guys, he’s not a complicated dude. Percy is game every time they lay eyes on each other, zero questions asked.

Ergo ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE COUSIN. BEST DEMIGOD EVER.